The Essential Ingredient
by Airiviel
Summary: SLASH. When Voldemort is defeated, his powers linger within Dumbledore. No one is able to purge him of this magic, and as a result, he is dying. Harry, assisted by a reformed Draco, is determined to save Dumbledore.
1. Recalling The Hyena's Trap

**Title:** The Essential Ingredient  
**Author name:** Airiviel  
**Category:** Slash, Romance  
**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, Dumbledore, Cage  
**Pairings:** Draco/Harry  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers**: All five books  
**Summary:** When Voldemort is defeated, his powers linger within Dumbledore's tortured body. The Healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are unable to purge his mind and body of this evil magic, and as a result, it is slowly killing the famous headmaster. Harry, assisted by a reformed Draco, is determined to find a way to counter Voldemort's powers and save Dumbledore's life. But in assigning themselves this task, Harry and Draco find much more than they expect.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations shall be made where necessary.

**Chapter 1: Recalling the Hyena's Trap**

"He is dying," said Severus Snape in a tense and low voice, sitting at the desk in his office.

The boy said nothing, and merely stared at his worn shoes. There was a time when his feet knew only the most expensive shoes of the finest quality. But that time was gone. And now his eyes gazed at dull brown shoes, the left one of which had laces that had been broken and knotted back together in several places.

"Well?" Snape raised his voice slightly.

The young man looked up, and the silver-blond hair that begged for a trim fell out of his eyes, brushing his pale cheek. Still, he said nothing. There were no words that could be combined to procure a proper response to that statement. And Draco wasn't about to try, as eloquent as he might usually be.

The professor rose and moved to stand in front of his desk, where his student was sitting silently. Snape glared down at the boy. "Answer me!" His voice held a dangerously sharp edge.

Still, Draco said nothing. His silver eyes stared at his professor, dull, unfeeling.

"_He is the man who pardoned you_!" Snape shouted angrily when Draco gave no response. "_What have you to say_?"

"What would you have me say?" said Draco very softly.

"Mr. Malfoy—" Snape stopped. He sighed audibly and returned to his chair behind his desk.

There was silence again, and in the quiet Draco watched his professor's expressions carefully.

"You are dismissed, Mr. Malfoy." His voice sounded tired.

"I didn't know," Draco said, making no move to rise.

"I _said_ you are _dismissed_! Get out!" Snape's eyes flared and he glowered at Draco.

The blond stood and pivoted on his heel, making his way to the door. He stopped when his hand touched the doorknob. "I swear I didn't know," he said quietly, his back to Snape.

"It _happened_ at _Malfoy Manor_. Your _father_ was the one in charge of the procedure. Your _father_ helped Voldemort _set it up_. You _had_ to have had _some idea_," seethed Snape in a dangerously low voice.

Draco turned around stiffly, his eyes black with defiant anger and his voice hardened with bitter coldness. "My _father_ already began to suspect my betrayal a year ago. Surely you don't expect that he shared their plans with me."

"You _knew_ about the Cage!" the professor snapped.

"So did you," retorted Draco quietly.

"I did not _guess_ he would still use it!" Snape snarled.

"Don't hold me responsible for your incorrect assumptions." Draco glared back at his professor.

"Damn you, Malfoy! You _knew_ he was going to use it! You _knew_ he was probably going to use _Potter_ for it! _Why did you keep your silence?_"

Draco looked away from Snape's piercing eyes and stared at the floor. He swallowed, and the dryness of his mouth caused his throat to feel a scratchy and rough scrape. "I—" he began in a hoarse voice. He turned away and twisted the doorknob to the left, thrusting the door open and leaving quickly without finishing what he was about to say.

Severus Snape watched him leave grimly. Then, after a moment of silence, the professor said in a soft voice, "You were afraid."

Harry sighed. He was in a bed in the infirmary, half-sitting and half-lying down, his back propped up by pillows. He turned his head slowly to the left. The curtains had been drawn around the bed there, where Dumbledore lay. Harry moved his head back to stare up at the ceiling very slowly to prevent himself from getting another throbbing headache. He closed his eyes, the anguish still raw in his heart. He wished he could forget. But Dumbledore, just before falling into his deep sleep, had told him in a weak voice that he must not try to forget, and had forbidden anyone else to help him forget. The traumatic events that had passed less than a week ago played themselves over and over again in his mind, like a Muggle movie that kept rewinding itself. As much as he tried not to think about them, Harry could not stop himself from reliving the terrible moments...

_  
Harry awoke, breathing raggedly, and his eyes wide open. He had just dreamed that Voldemort had Dumbledore in a strange barred enclosure...a "Cage," the Death Eaters had called it, and with a tone that gave Harry the impression that the word was spelled with a capital "C." What was happening? Harry had successfully learned Occlumency...why did he have this dream? Harry was convinced the dream was true, and pulled his covers back, leaping out of bed and bolting through the door of the room that he and Ron shared in Sirius's house._

_Sirius. Harry paused just as he shut the door to the room. What if this was just like what had happened with Sirius? Harry would only be falling into another trap...tripping into the same hole twice. But he had already mastered Occlumency...there wasn't any sort of logical explanation for the dream now...Voldemort had no way of getting to his mind. But he couldn't risk it...Dumbledore had gone off to Norway two weeks ago to do something secret...there was no way for Harry to find out whether or not Voldemort really had Dumbledore. Dumbledore had said that no one was to send him any owls...he couldn't risk that they might be intercepted and someone would find out where he was. Of course, Harry could send an owl against the headmaster's orders ...but if Voldemort did indeed have him captured, then by the time Harry realized that it would be too late._

_He had no choice but to take the risk. He had known, since the moment he jumped out of his bed, that he could not possibly try to bring Ron and Hermione, or anyone else. They would only try to stop him. He could already hear Hermione's voice begging him, "Harry, please! What if this is just like what happened with—you know?" She wouldn't say his godfather's name, knowing how sensitive a subject it was for Harry to think about. But she would remind him of the mistake he had made last time, and Ron would surely agree with her. And he couldn't possibly bear risking the lives of his two best friends, or anyone else. Not after what happened to Sirius. No, Harry was alone this time. Completely alone._

_Harry followed the path he had been shown by a Death Eater in his dream, going through the dark forest behind Grimmauld Place. He had heard the Death Eater say in his dream that this forest was unplottable, just like Hogwarts. Any Muggle would see it as a small, run-down building. Harry continued walking along the dirt path until he came to a deep black pit. He looked around for a good way to return once he jumped into the pit. At last he spied a long, thick vine hanging from a tall tree that could function as a rope. Harry tugged on the vine, and then jumped, catching a higher part of it and hanging there with his feet swinging for several moments. He was testing the strength vine. It held firm, and Harry, satisfied, jumped into the pit, bringing the end of the vine with him. Harry fell through air for several minutes before his feet touched the dirt ground. The vine was long enough to hang just two inches above the ground of the pit. Harry let out a breath of relief. He had been terribly afraid that the vine would not be long enough to work as an escape route._

_"Lumos," he murmured. The light revealed that at the bottom, the walls had expanded and there were four tunnels branching out from the pit. But Harry ignored these tunnels, and went straight to the wall where the jagged edge of a large buried rock stuck out. The piece of stone was triangular with rounded edges, and the triangle pointed up. Harry tapped his wand against the rock six times in quick succession. At first he was afraid he had counted wrong the number of times he needed to tap the jagged edge. But then slowly the triangular rock rotated twice around and came to a stop when it pointed down. Harry inhaled deeply, the rhythm of his heartbeat pounding inside his ears. The rock was now loose, and Harry pulled it out of its spot in the wall. As the large stone came away from the wall, the hole where it had been began to widen, growing larger and larger and taller and taller until at last it was a tunnel itself._

_Harry stepped gingerly into the dark hole, holding his wand out before him. As soon as he was completely through the opening, the mouth of the tunnel shrunk and the rock jumped back into place. A ripple of nervousness ran through his body. He inhaled deeply, the cold, musty air filling his lungs. He stretched out his wand arm as far as he could to try and see farther ahead of him, but the dusty air dimmed the wand's light. He sighed and began walking slowly forward. The urgency of his mission dropped into his heart like a heavy stone, and soon he was running rapidly down the seemingly-endless tunnel of black._

_At last he reached a door, and before he even touched the handle, it swung open with a loud creak. Harry, not giving himself time to hesitate, flung himself through the doorway and down the steps behind it. He heard the door slam shut behind him, and felt his heart race. His feet touched the bottom of the steps and he turned sharply to the right, where there was another door. He yanked it open, already knowing what he would find. The room was completely black, and Harry could not even see his own hand when he held it up to his eyes. The darkness seemed to absorb all the light from his wand, and all he could see was a small, golden tip that did not serve to illuminate the room at all._

_As soon as he closed the door behind him, the room lit up with enchanted candles, and Harry was momentarily blinded by the white lights dancing on the walls. In the center of the ceiling there hung a grand chandelier that was almost as bright as the sun itself. His eyes recovered, and he saw that the room was filled with twenty or so Death Eaters. Standing beneath the chandelier was the Dark Lord himself. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen._

_"We have been expecting you, Harry," he said with a cruel mirth in his eyes._

_Harry did not reply. He glared at Voldemort and narrowed his eyes as the Death Eaters moved to form a circle around him. He knew that the door had been locked magically, and he was trapped._

_"After all," said Voldemort lazily, "you would never miss a chance to play the hero. Especially when it involved your precious headmaster." He tilted his head to gaze at Harry in a fond way. "I've grown to like you, Potter. You're a unique enemy to have. And I knew you would never risk the possibility that I might really have Dumbledore."_

_Harry breathed in. "The dream—"_

_"Come now, Harry. Surely you knew better than to think you were invulnerable to me simply because of the Occlumency you have learned?" Voldemort leaned forward. "There are other ways, you know. But let's not worry about that. In a few moments, your dream will come true." And with those last five clichéd words, Voldemort threw his head back and laughed in a way that reminded Harry of a hyena's barbaric cackle._

_Your dream will come true. The statement dropped a horrible feeling into the bottom of Harry's stomach. He looked shocked. "You didn't—Dumbledore isn't—"_

_"My dear boy," the Dark Lord drawled. "If you would only use that scarred head of yours for a moment. Dumbledore was the bait that brought you here. And now you will serve as the bait that brings Dumbledore here. Kill two unicorns with one arrow."_

_Voldemort's words hit Harry straight in the face, and he realized just how stupid he was to have come. He should have realized right away exactly what the scheme was. He cursed silently, holding his breath. Maybe there was a way...he casually raised his right hand, his wand hidden behind his wrist._

_The Dark Lord chuckled. "Your wand won't work here, Harry. This room is barred against all magic produced by the phoenix feather that resides in your wand."_

_A small glimmer of hope lit in Harry's head. If his own wand wouldn't work because of his phoenix feather, then neither would Voldemort's. Their wands both contained a tail feather from Fawkes..._

_As if Harry had been thinking out loud, Voldemort began to speak. "Harry, Harry," he said in a mocking voice. "Don't you realize that I know our wands are brothers? Surely you must have guessed that I figured it out after our encounter following the Triwizard Tournament. I do have more than one wand, you know."_

_Harry's brief exultation disappeared, and he pocketed his wand. Just as his mind began to whirl in a search for a quick plan, he heard a loud crack and Dumbledore appeared at Harry's side, holding what seemed to be a sphere of light in his hand. His face was ominous and as he raised the sphere of light above his head, its rays reached farther and farther out, until the sphere had become a humongous bubble of light that completely surrounded Dumbledore and Harry. Through the thin mist of golden light, Harry could see the Death Eaters shielding their eyes with their hands, squinting._

_Voldemort alone stood composed. He was smiling. He murmured something that was not audible to Harry's ears, and Dumbledore's protective bubble of light disappeared with a wink. Dumbledore's eyes flared._

_"Welcome, Dumbledore," said the Dark Lord in a jeering voice. "We knew you would not disappoint us."_

_Dumbledore stepped away from Harry and spread his arms wide, palms facing up. From his left palm a beam of light began to form, stretching out in a thin line. It grew longer and longer, arcing above his head, until at last it began to fall again. The string of light slowly touched his right palm, and then the light wavered, but Dumbledore, his beard twitching only slightly as he regained his concentration, forced the light into his palm. Harry watched him with rapt fascination as Dumbledore's right hand became illuminated with the same incandescent light. The headmaster slowly lowered his hands, still holding the string of light that arced above him. Then suddenly he clasped his hands together and and directed the light at Voldemort. A blinding and fierce white bolt shot out of his palms, its aim true._

_But it didn't have time to reach Voldemort before the Dark Lord raised his wand and froze the light in midair. Dumbledore began to construct a shield of energy, but before it could spread completely, Voldemort waved his wand and sent one of his Death Eaters flying against it. The shield broke, consuming the Death Eater in flames of white. The man wriggled and screamed, and Harry found that he had to look away. Voldemort did not wait for the Death Eater to die; he gestured at the bolt of light that was still suspended in the air and flicked his wand. The bolt rotated a hundred and eighty degrees and directed itself at Dumbledore. The headmaster jumped out of its path, but the bolt followed him. There was no way to dodge it, and Dumbledore was caught in the chest with the full force of the white magic._

_He stumbled backwards, clutching his right arm to his chest and wincing._

_"I suppose it is only fair for you to know that in this room, my magical energy is enhanced – nearly tripled – and nothing you do can surpass my powers." Voldmort turned to the Death Eaters. "Bind him!"_

_Immediately, four Death Eaters came forward to tie Dumbledore's hands behind his back with enchanted ropes. Harry found that he was too panicked to move, and did not have any idea of what to do. Quickly he fumbled for his wand, before he remembered it was useless, and he might as well be holding one of Fred and George's fake wands._

_Harry tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. What should he do? He watched as Voldemort strolled to a wall and said some sort of chant that must have been a password, for the wall disappeared, a line on the ground marking where it had been a moment ago, and Harry found himself facing what appeared to be the second half of the room. This part of the room had no lights illuminating it, but it was just as bright as the other half of the room; in the center stood a magnificent cage that was completely made of bars of light. And Harry knew immediately that this was the "Cage" the Death Eater had referred to in his dream. A terrible sense of dread washed over him, and his hands were sweaty._

_"This, Dumbledore," said Voldemort with a strange smile on his face, "is my Cage, which I have no doubt that the traitor Snape has informed you about." He spat the name "Snape" with more hatred than Harry had ever known in his life. And peculiarly, although Voldemort's hatred was for Snape, the professor that Harry despised, he felt a strange, uncontrollable anger at the Dark Lord. "Dear Severus must have told you that I stopped using the Cage because it drained me of my magical energy too quickly. But I'm sure that by this time you have already realized what I mean to do."_

_Dumbledore said nothing; Harry swallowed at the grim look on his face._

_"Harry," Dumbledore began. But he didn't get to finish, because at that moment, two Death Eaters came forward and seized Harry. Harry cried out and struggled against them._

_"You would do well," said Voldemort to Harry, "to conserve your energy. After all, you won't be able to keep it for very long."_

_"What are you talking about?" Harry glared at Voldemort, the anger in his eyes as sharp as daggers._

_"Harry, you know what the Cruciatus curse is, correct? Perhaps you'll recall your experience of it after the Triwizard Tournament. It is a commander of pain," Voldemort said softly, his eyes glittering. "Pain can teach. Pain can control. Pain can torment. So you see, Harry, pain is very strong weapon."_

_Harry clenched his teeth and tensed his arms, which were held by the two Death Eaters. They did not bind him, however, as they had done with Dumbledore._

_"This Cage," the Dark Lord continued, an ugly smile on his face, "was built to contain a person that I felt the Cruciatus curse was not sufficient for. I have not used it in years, because such a Cage is completely made of magical energy. That magical energy must come from its creator...me. And because it drained me of my energy so quickly, it was decided that the Cage was an inefficient means of torture. However, it still remained my preference above all other ways to cause pain. And today, you shall help me use it again." He turned to the Death Eaters. "Bring them across," he commanded._

_Harry suddenly found that he was being dragged across the straight line drawn on the floor. He twisted around to make sure Dumbledore was still with him. The headmaster was also being dragged across the line, but he did not struggle as Harry did. To Harry's great astonishment, as soon as everyone had crossed to this side of the room, the other half vanished...as did the walls that enclosed them. Now, Harry saw, they were in a large foyer, with a very high ceiling. The cage had not moved at all. Harry realized that crossing to the other half of the room must have worked sort of like a portkey. He wondered where they were now._

_As in answer to his unasked question, Voldemort said, "Welcome to Malfoy Manor."_

_Harry turned back to Voldemort, and now he could see that an even larger group of Death Eaters had joined them. All of them were masked except one. Lucius Malfoy. Lucius stood at Voldemort's right, smiling just as maliciously._

_"Get Potter a chair," Voldemort drawled. "It wouldn't do for him to collapse in the middle of it." Lucius hastened to obey, and quickly conjured an elegant wooden chair._

_Harry wondered what "it" was. Perhaps it referred to the Cage. So then...they were going to put him in the Cage. Well, they would have to fight him before he'd let them put him in that thing._

_"We have a very special connection, you and I," said Voldemort to Harry, who was now being forced into the wooden chair. As soon as he sat down, he found that he was unable to rise again. Voldemort continued speaking, "And I can use this special connection to my advantage. We are linked by what you might call an invisible string. And with this string, I can draw energy from you."_

_It suddenly dawned on Harry that Voldemort meant to use his energy for the cage. "You—but—it wouldn't work!"_

_"Oh, it will work. Have no fear, Harry. The energy will still come from me...but I will be supplied by you. Now, let me tell you about my genius creation." He gestured at the Cage. "If a person is inside the Cage, any magic that he does will simply bounce back at him. Like a rubber ball, if you will. This Cage is designed to torture, but it also kills. You see, Harry, as long as a person inside the Cage remains defiant and determined to live, all that the Cage will do is torment the person both mentally and physically. As soon as the person gives up, however, the Cage will begin to kill the person slowly and painfully."_

_Harry was horrified by what he heard. He glanced at Dumbledore. How could he just stand there and not do anything? Harry felt a slight twitch of resentment at Dumbledore._

_"Put him in the Cage," commanded Voldemort. Harry tensed, but when no one moved toward him he realized that Voldemort had not meant him. Harry twisted_ _around_ _in the chair. Dumbledore. There were dragging Dumbledore into the Cage. Harry had completely not expected this, although he realized now that he should have automatically known that Dumbledore would be the first to go in the Cage when Voldemort told him the energy would come from him. His fear must have dulled his senses. And now a fresh wave of panic swept over him._

_"No—I—" Harry began. But he stopped suddenly. What could he say? There was absolutely nothing he could say or do to stop Voldemort._

_"Don't worry, Harry, you'll have your turn in the Cage after your dear headmaster." Voldemort smirked. "But first, I've just put a spell on you that will make you feel the echoes of what Dumbledore feels. You'll feel only one tenth of what he feels...just enough for you to have a taste of it." Voldemort turned back to face the Cage. "Inciperus," he murmured._

_The incandescent light of the Cage began to grow, brighter and brighter, until at last it appeared that Dumbledore was surrounded by an illuminated fog of gold. Harry felt himself becoming a little drowsy. Very abruptly, the light of the Cage flared, and Dumbledore was thrown off his feet by an invisible force. Harry was suddenly intensely aware of Dumbledore's old age. The many lines in his face, his white hair and beard...and suddenly, the sound of Dumbledore crying out_ _in pain filled Harry with a terrible grief._

_Something spun Dumbledore around and threw him against the bars of energy. His body shuddered, and Harry could feel the horrible pricks of a millions of invisible needles against his skin. He had learned, in what Muggles called "elementary" school, that if you placed a balloon on a bed of evenly placed needles, it would not pop, because of the imitation surface created. But when you placed it on a bed of needles that were sticking up at different lengths, or when you dropped the balloon on a single needle, it popped very easily. Now, Harry knew that these painful pricks that had to be drawing blood were unevenly placed, and he winced as the pain surrounded his body. If he was only getting echoes of the Cage's effects, Harry hated to imagine what Dumbledore was feeling._

_He decided that he did not have the stomach to watch the process, and kept his eyes tightly shut, all the while feeling his energy dissipate very quickly like evaporating steam. Then, very abruptly, the pain disappeared. Immense relief flooded over Harry. He found himself letting out a breath that he hadn't noticed he was holding, and he opened his eyes again. Dumbledore was lying on the floor of the cage, panting hard._

_"Did that hurt, Headmaster?" said Voldemort softly. "Why don't we try a different approach?"_

_And then, without warning, Harry felt himself fall into a sea of depressing emotions, and suddenly he felt the most heart-wrenching pain he had ever felt in his life. Visions flashed through his head, and they reminded him of his Occlumency lessons with Snape. Behind his eyelids, he saw a man die, and although Harry did not recognize the man, he felt the most horrible sadness that seemed to bore a hole in his heart. Harry felt an unfamiliar despair pushing all other thoughts from his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking from them uncontrollably._

_He heard someone sobbing. Was it himself? Harry forced his eyes open, a simple motion that took a surprisingly large amount of strength, and saw that Dumbledore was kneeling on the floor of the Cage, rocking back and forth, his head in his hands. His sobs were dry and hoarse, and they shook his frail body. Harry had never thought of Dumbledore as "frail" before this moment, nor had he ever seen Dumbledore crying in this way, and it felt very strange inside, like he shouldn't be here,_ _shouldn't be watching this._

_But it was my fault, Harry told himself sternly. He felt terribly exhausted, and wished that everything would go away and let him rest. Then he realized that the terrible memories had stopped running through his head, and he looked up. Voldemort was watching Dumbledore with a perverted satisfaction, a slight smile on his face. The headmaster was still kneeling on floor, and now he gasped for breath, the lines on his face contorted with the pain of the memories. Harry wondered how long Dumbledore would be able to last inside the Cage, and a renewed fear filled his heart._

_"Shall we try again?" said Voldemort, wearing a wicked grin. "How about a new_ _game?" Voldemort raised his wand and muttered a strange spell that Harry had never heard before. From his wand, a ball of fire shot out and flew through the bars of the Cage. When it reached the other side of the Cage, it did not, as Harry had expected, fly through the bars again. Instead, the Cage had somehow closed it in, and Harry, barely able to keep his eyes open, watched with horror as it bounced off the invisible wall and shot itself at Dumbledore. The headmaster flung himself away, and the ball of fire bounced off the floor and propelled itself up at the ceiling. For several suspenseful moments, Harry watched the sphere of fire bounce up and down, up and down in a zig-zagging path, while Dumbledore repeatedly dodged it and the Death Eaters roared with mocking laughter. It reached another invisible wall, and bounced against it, now shooting itself diagonally at the other side of the room. Dumbledore dropped to the floor, and not a moment too soon, for the ball went whooshing past his head._

_Harry's heart pounded, and he felt the same stimulating fear that he knew Dumbledore must be feeling. The flaming sphere had picked up its pace, and it was plain that the headmaster was tiring quickly. Harry felt his own body slump against the back of the wooden chair, and he knew that his strength was almost gone. His eyes were mere slits now, through which he watched Dumbledore dodge and dodge again. Then at last the fireball stopped itself on the floor. Dumbledore collapsed on the ground, showing the fatigue and old age that Harry never saw. He closed his eyes, panting heavily. Then, Harry watched, unable to speak, as the glowing sphere raised itself and then plunged at Dumbledore._

_At the sound of the orange ball whistling through the air, Dumbledore opened his eyes. He tried to roll away, but he was too late. The fire had hit his shoulder, and although only his shoulder showed signs of being burnt, a glow began to spread across every inch of the headmaster's body. He started shuddering involuntarily, and his body could not stop shaking. The glow of orange grew brighter, and Harry, in all his drowsiness, became suddenly aware of the irony of Voldemort using magic that produced white or golden energy._

_Harry began to feel a tingle in his fingers and toes, and then the strange tickle moved up his arm, up his legs. The tingle continued to move to his center until it had wrapped itself around his body, and he began to shake, not quite as violently as Dumbledore was shuddering, but enough that the tingle began to feel painful. Harry couldn't even open his eyes now, and his head lolled over, hanging to the side, and putting a painful crick in his neck. He did not have the energy to change his uncomfortable position, and he tried to concentrate on conserving his energy._

_And then he felt it. Inside his head, there was a tiny thought of defeat. It was not his own thought, he knew that for sure. It must have been inside Dumbledore's mind. The feeling of defeat grew stronger, and Harry could feel that Dumbledore was on the brink of giving in. _No_, Harry thought, with as much energy as he dared to spare. Please, hold on; he tried to direct the message at Dumbledore. The thought of defeat continued to spread inside his mind. Harry felt like he was going crazy. _NO_! his head screamed. And then he felt a slight resistance, growing and growing, until it began to push the defeat out of his mind. Harry must live, said a familiar voice in his mind. And Harry was only barely awake enough to register that Dumbledore was holding on only to keep him alive. Harry wanted to call out to Dumbledore. But he didn't know what to say, and he was too tired... He was so very tired._

_He heard a loud boom, and recognized it as the sound of a door being broken down. But that's unusual, he thought fuzzily, struggling to open his eyes. Why would someone be trying to break down the door? Harry closed his eyes again. He heard several garbled words being spoken, and all he could make of it was that they were angry words. He didn't understand. What was going on?_

_Then, "Potter," a very familiar voice had said. Was it Voldemort? No, Voldemort didn't sound like that._

_Then, more urgently, "Potter!" Still he could not bring himself to respond. Who was calling his name? Dumbledore?_

_Harry tried to say something, but his lips would not form the words. "Mmmph," was all he could force himself to murmur._

_The voice called again, "Harry!" But who was it?_

_"Harry!"_

"Harry?" said a gentle voice. It was the not the same voice he had heard.

Harry opened his eyes, amazed that he had the strength to do so. Oh. So he had fallen asleeping dreaming and remembering. Hermione was peering down at him anxiously.

"Are you alright?" she asked kindly.  
"I'm fine," he muttered, looking away.

"You're crying," she said, her face very concerned.

"I...had a bad dream." Harry reached up a hand to brush away the tears that he hadn't realized were there. He wished she would go away, wanting to be alone for a while.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione sat down in the chair next to Harry's bed.

_No_, he thought bitterly. But he said instead, "Er, I don't really remember it anymore."

"Oh." There was an awkward silence for a moment. Then, Hermione said very brightly with a forced smile, "Look what Fred and George sent you! Skiving Snackboxes!" She gestured at the foot of his bed, where there was a square table covered with get-well cards and boxes of candies. He immediately spotted the large boxes with the words "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes" written on them in large, loopy letters.

"Great," he said, trying to smile. Hermione would never have usually encouraged him with Fred and George's candies. He knew she was trying to be nice. But he wasn't in the mood to properly appreciate it. Harry felt his smile fade, and mentally kicked himself for it.

"Er...well...I guess I ought to be going." She stood up. "I hope you feel better, Harry."

He nodded and waved goodbye, feeling very relieved. A part of him was filled with guilt at the thought of disappointing Hermione, but he desperately needed some alone time to think. And forget.

Harry had been told, when he had woken up from his three-day coma, exactly what had happened. While Harry was on his way to the room where the Death Eaters were, McGonagall had received an owl from Voldemort himself, saying that he was holding Harry captive. McGonagall had been afraid to believe the letter, but had also been afraid to disbelieve it. So she'd flooed to the House of Black to check on Harry, and sure enough, he wasn't in bed. She had then immediately gone to Dumbledore through a portkey that he himself had left her in case there was an emergency. She'd shown him the letter, which had self-destructed the moment the headmaster finished reading it, and then Dumbledore had taken the portkey supplied in the letter, which brought him directly to the room where Harry was.

Harry had passed out just after the moment that Severus Snape arrived at Malfoy Manor and broken down the door. Snape had been the one calling his name. Ron had told Harry that Snape had some strange thing that finally defeated Voldemort. Now, the Ministry was busy searching out the last of the Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy, Ron had told Harry with a delightful grin, was in Azkaban, and should be receiving the Dementor's Kiss any day now.

Since Madame Pomfrey had ordered everyone to leave him be for a few days, to which he was grateful, Harry had had ample time to think about the current events. He had mixed feelings about...well, everything. It felt strange to have, for once, not been the one who defeated Voldemort. And it felt doubly strange to him that Snape was the person who had succeeded in ridding the Wizarding world of Voldemort for good, something Harry had always expected he would do himself. He had been even more convinced that he would be Voldemort's downfall after he'd heard about the prophecy...and he knew that it was only a prophecy...but – it made sense, didn't it? He had survived Avada Kedavra at Voldemort's hands...shouldn't he be the one who finally got rid of the cruel wizard? He felt slightly guilty for these thoughts, but he could not discern the reason why. He rebuked himself for thinking so highly of himself. _It's no wonder Ron and Hermione rarely visit these days; I must be unbearable_. But he knew that was not the real reason; he knew that they had stopped coming to see him as often as they used to because he kept pushing them away.

Harry forced these thoughts to the back of his mind, and thought about Lucius Malfoy. _Poor Malfoy_, he thought, and marveled at the idea that he was able to pity the horrible Slytherin. Draco Malfoy had reformed, and joined with Snape in spying for Dumbledore. Harry had not known this until after the ordeal, and had, like everyone else, thought that Malfoy had become a Death Eater like his father. Harry slowly turned his head to the right. In that bed was where the greasy-haired professor had lain for a few days. He had recovered the quickest; it had been a simple matter of restoring the energy he had used up in doing whatever it was that had killed Voldemort. Now, the bed was empty, and oddly, Harry felt comforted by it.

Harry winced as he twisted his head to look at Dumbledore. The old man had not stirred in days. Everything had been hushed and kept secret from Harry, but he had eavesdropped one night and heard them talking about the headmaster's condition. Harry knew he was dying, and knew that it was completely his fault. Just like Sirius. _Because of me, Sirius died. And because of me, Dumbledore is going to die_. Harry chewed on his lip, bitterly repeating these words over and over again in his head.

The headmaster was dying because he had refused to give in to Voldemort's Cage. It had already begun to consume his mind and his body when it sensed his defeat, but he had resisted it, and pushed the thoughts of defeat away, all for the sake of giving Harry any chance to slip away and escape. Because of his resistance, Voldemort's powers had lingered in his body, and no potion that Snape brewed, no spell that McGonagall or any other professor did would purge his mind and body of the terrible magic.

_He knew I had no chance, but he wanted to give me one anyway_, Harry thought to himself. A terrible sadness wrenched at his heart, and he shook his head violently to try to clear away the the feeling. As a result, he gained a throbbing headache. He reached for the tall vial on his nightstand, and allowed a mouthful of foul-tasting potion to trickle down his throat. It was a potion that relieved him of his headaches, and as much as its aroma made Harry want to vomit, it always immediately cleared away the pounding in his head.

Harry felt the painful pulse fade away, and he sank back down on the pillows, carefully returning the vial to its place on the nightstand. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, hating the dreams that he knew were going to come.

**  
**


	2. A Shoe Fits Two

**Title:** The Essential Ingredient  
**Author name:** Airiviel  
**Category:** Romance  
**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, Dumbledore  
**Pairings:** Draco/Harry  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers**: All five books  
**Summary:** When Voldemort is defeated, his powers linger within Dumbledore's tortured body. The Healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are unable to purge his mind and body of this evil magic, and as a result, it is slowly killing the famous headmaster. Harry, assisted by a reformed Draco, is determined to find a way to counter Voldemort's powers and save Dumbledore's life. But in assigning themselves this task, Harry and Draco find much more than they expect.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations shall be made where necessary.  
**Author's Note:** Prior to the incident at Malfoy Manor, Harry was staying at Grimmauld Place. The night that the incident occurred was August 31st, the next day being the start of term. This is the reason why Harry is now staying at the infirmary in Hogwarts, rather than Grimmauld Place or St. Mungo's.

**Chapter 2: A Shoe Fits Two**

"There's a spell that must be put on you, Harry, to ensure that you're alright," said Madam Pomfrey.

Draco Malfoy walked past the doorway to the infirmary and seeing Harry, sneered at him.

"But I'm fine," Harry protested to the nurse, pretending he hadn't seen Malfoy.

"Well, we can't be sure of that yet." She bustled around the infirmary, mixing strange liquids together.

"Why not?" he asked apprehensively. "I _feel_ fine."

"We don't know whether you've got any of the magic inside you," she explained impatiently, "and so we must monitor you for a period of time."

"Got any of the _what_?" He was becoming irritated.

Madam Pomfrey stopped moving, and turned around. "Potter, don't you realize that when You-Know-Who tried to kill you again—"

"His _name_ is _Voldemort_," Harry snapped, feeling extremely annoyed. "He's already _dead_, so get used to saying it. And what d'you _mean_ he tried to kill me again? He didn't get a chance—"

She'd jumped when Harry said "Voldemort," but now she had recovered and was staring at him. "You didn't know?" she said before he finished his sentence. Then, after Harry raised his eyebrows at her, she said, "Well, I suppose you wouldn't, since you were unconscious." She turned back to her potions and resumed mixing various things together. "Right before Professor Snape defeated him, You-Know-Who tried to use the Killing Curse again, because you were so weak he was certain it would kill you. Well, he'd forgotten that you were sitting in a chair that connected you to himself, and so the chair absorbed most of the curse and, needless to say, it didn't work."

"_Most_ of the curse?" Harry tapped his foot, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to elaborate.

She took her time. "Yes, well, you were _sitting_ in the chair, you know, so some of his magic did flow into you... And, well, there might be...repercussions of his power in you."

"Like in Dumbledore," Harry said, choking on the headmaster's name.

Pomfrey nodded silently. He couldn't see her expression.

Harry sighed. "Great. Well then, what's this spell?"

"It's going to make you hypersensitive. Any thought, emotion, or sense that you have will be exaggerated by about fifty times."

Harry groaned loudly. Well, he was certainly going to be having a lot of fun with _that_.

The nurse ignored him and continued. "The point of this is, if any of You-Know-Who's power has indeed remained inside you, this hypersensitivity will allow you to be aware of it, to sense it. Without this spell, you would feel quite normal, and would be unable to detect any foreign magic in you. Now drink this potion." She held out a suspicious-looking purple liquid that fizzed at the top. "It will clear you of all your thoughts for the moment, and you must drink _all_ of it before I do the spell."

Harry grimaced as the potion touched his lips. It was very bland. Not that it tasted horrible, in fact, it tasted a little like cranberry juice. Extremely _diluted _cranberry juice. But Harry was reluctant to drink it. At last, he pinched his nose and dumped it down his throat, ignoring the slight burning sensation at the back of his mouth.

Madam Pomfrey tapped her wand on his head, muttering a spell, and suddenly Harry found himself very aware that Madam Pomfrey smelled like a Muggle cough drop.

"All done. The potion will wear off in about a month or so, and if you haven't felt anything by then, you should be perfectly fine. You may go now. You have been excused from all the assignments you've missed at the start of term, but you're to be back in class tomorrow." And with that, she turned back to mixing more potions.

He stood there stupidly, for a moment, staring around everything in the infirmary. He had never before noticed that strange, bittersweet taste that the air had. And for the first time, he felt itchy as dust particles floating through the air brushed against his skin. Harry could feel where his scar was on his forehead...before, it had always just felt like any other patch of skin on his body. But now, it was different...he could feel it standing out, as if it were embossed on his forehead. His blood, it seemed, had never pounded so heavily in his veins before. His hair tickled his face, where before, he had only been aware of the strands that brushed across his face.

Harry realized that everyone might think he was acting very odd, and quickly left the infirmary, hurrying to the Gryffindor common room. All along the way, he couldn't help blinking his eyes several times just to feel the muscles around his eyelids contract. Every new hall he walked down, every staircase he climbed, everywhere, there was a different smell. By the time he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he had already become used to his new senses. _No_, he told himself. They weren't _new_ senses, they were merely exaggerated. Harry wasn't sure that he liked this change, but there was nothing he could do about it; he would have to deal with it for a month.

Harry woke up the next day feeling much better, although Pomfrey had claimed he was "fully recovered" the day before. He yawned, and recalling the night before, felt slightly guilty. After Madam Pomfrey had excused him, he'd gone straight to the Gryffindor common room and sat by the window, reading about Quidditch for the rest of the afternoon. He hadn't felt a bit hungry, and had chosen to skip dinner. When Ron and Hermione finally found him in the common room later that evening, he'd claimed that he was too tired and had marched up the stairs to go to bed without saying much more to his friends.

He pulled open the curtains around his bed, and saw that everyone had already gone down to the Great Hall for breakfast, except Ron, who was sitting on his bed with his legs crossed, reading.

"Took you long enough to wake up," said Ron, yawning.

"Good morning," Harry said, feeling much more amiable than he had the previous night. He rolled out of his bed and began to get dressed. He paused as he pulled on his black robes.

"Hurry up, mate," said Ron, standing up. "Hermione'll be wondering where we are."

"Right." But Harry paused again as a he ran a comb through his hair. He could feel every single tooth of the comb, and he was very aware of the knots in his dark hair that pulled apart as the comb was raked across them. "Mmm, I'd forgotten," he muttered to himself.

"Sorry?" said Ron.

Harry realized that Ron didn't know about the spell, and began explaining to his friend exactly what Madam Pomfrey had told him as they made their way to the Great Hall.

"You-Know-Who's powers might be _inside you_?" Ron looked horrified.

"Call him _Voldemort_, Ron," Harry said firmly. "And it's not that hard to believe. I mean, look at—look at Dumbledore."

Ron froze. "What's happening to Dumbledore, exactly?"

Harry stopped walking as well, and turned to look at his friend. "You mean you don't know?" He hadn't told his friends what had transpired that fateful night, but he had assumed that McGonagall had told everyone.

Ron shook his head. "We only know that he's really ill; we couldn't make out any more than that on the Extendable Ears. McGonagall and the rest of the teachers have kept everything hushed up."

Thoughts rushed through Harry's head so fast that he could barely follow all of them. In a faint and distracted voice he said, "I'll tell you as soon as we find Hermione." As they walked, Ron continued to shoot an endless stream of questions at a frowning Harry, who was so pensive he did not hear anything his friend said, and could only shake his head and mutter "not yet."

He wasn't quite sure what to think. Why weren't the teachers telling the students that Dumbledore was dying? Surely it was important for everyone to know... But maybe they were afraid that many parents would pull their students out of Hogwarts once they discovered that Dumbledore may no longer be headmaster. Yes, that must be it...

They walked into the Great Hall, and it took Harry a moment to register that the loud buzz he had heard only a moment ago had suddenly died down and now it seemed that every head was turned his way, and all eyes were glued to him. He avoided meeting any eyes, and surveyed the floor as he and Ron made their way to the Gryffindor table.

As they reached the table and spotted Hermione, conversation among the students returned in hushed tones. Harry had no doubt that they were talking about him. Hermione was talking animatedly to Ginny when he and Ron slipped into the empty seats at her left and right.

"...There's got to be something wrong," Hermione was saying. "I heard McGonagall talking to Sprout just the other day about a special plant for a strange kind of healing potion, and—"

"'Morning," interrupted Ron.

"Hullo," Hermione said, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice.

"We were just talking about Dumbledore," Ginny told him as an owl swooped down in front of Hermione to deliver her copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Well, Harry said he's going to tell us about what's happening," announced Ron.

Hermione and Ginny turned to look at Harry expectantly.

"Er," began Harry uncomfortably. He wasn't very sure that he wanted to talk about Dumbledore right now.

"Go on," Ginny urged him.

Harry glanced at the rest of the table, which now seemed completely unaware of their conversation. He drew a deep breath, and reluctantly began telling them the story, keeping his eyes shut half the time, and barely aware of the words that spouted from his mouth. Everything he said now was just an instinctive account of the events; he did not allow his mind to comprehend what he was saying. He didn't want to relive it all over again for the twentieth time. He was surprised when he finished detailing the traumatic moments that had occurred at Malfoy Manor.

He opened his eyes and relaxed his stiff shoulders, gazing at his friends and feeling a strange indifference. No one spoke for several long-lasting minutes.

"Is...Dumbledore...suffering from aftereffects of the torture?" asked Hermione in a small voice.

Harry stared at her. Shouldn't it be obvious? His throat felt particularly dry as his lips shaped words that did not feel like his own and he said in a faraway voice, "He's dying."

"...Dying?" echoed Ginny, her face pallid.

He nodded, and forced himself to elaborate. "No one is sure what exactly happened that caused it. Madam Pomfrey's theory, based on what Snape told her about the Cage, is that the torture that Voldemort put D-Dumbledore through was beginning to consume his mind and body. But he resisted it, so it caused the power to somehow get trapped inside him."

Ron took a sip from his mug. "And now Pomfrey's put some spell on him—"

"We've heard," said Ginny and Hermione in unison.

"What?" Harry stared at them. But he had only told Ron...

"I found out from Parvati last night," said Hermione quietly. "She was incredulous that I didn't already know about it."

Harry gaped at her. "Parvati—?"

"And I heard it from Luna just before breakfast." Ginny stared at her napkin, being careful not to meet Harry's eyes.

"What?" exclaimed Ron. "But how would Luna and Parvati—how would _they_ know? Harry only just told me this morning!"

"I imagine they found out quite the same way we did," Hermione replied. "They probably heard it from someone else."

"I haven't _told_ anyone else," said Harry angrily.

"Well, don't be angry at _us_ about it," said Ginny huffily. "It's hardly our fault that we found out."

Harry glared at her. "I'm not—"

"If you're talking about the spell on Harry," Neville interrupted, sliding into a seat next to Ginny, "I have a good idea that Malfoy was the one spreading it around."

"_Malfoy_?" Ron spat. "How—"

"That makes sense," Harry said before he could finish. "He walked past the infirmary yesterday when I was talking to Pomfrey."

"So he was eavesdropping," Ron concluded darkly. "Shouldn't he have been arrested for being a Death Eater? What's he doing at Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged.

As Harry entered the dungeons for double Potions with the Slytherins that afternoon, many jeering faces turned to smirk at him. He ignored them and took his seat between Ron and a scowling Hermione.

"You're late, Potter," said Snape, sneering at him. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

"But I—"

"No excuses. Class began nine minutes ago." Snape turned around and picked up a vial of gray powder that resembled ash.

"I know how to tell time!" Harry snarled, the anger pounding within his head, threatening to spill out. He felt an uncontrollable wave of rage overwhelm him and had to restrain himself from pulling out his wand.

Snape turned back to face the class, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Ten more points, for your cheek. And as you have missed the beginning of the lesson, you shall have extra homework."

Harry opened his mouth to argue but Hermione gave him a rather painful stamp on the foot and he shut it, shooting an angry glance at her.

"Now," said the professor. "Who can tell me, very specifically, what this is?" He raised the vial for the class to see.

Hermione raised her hand eagerly, and for once, he nodded for her to speak. "It's Pixie Dust. It—"

"Incorrect," Snape said lazily.

The effect of this word on the students was enormous. No one could remember, in all their years at Hogwarts, any occasion where Hermione Granger had answered a question incorrectly. Hermione herself looked shocked, and the students whispered to each other in hushed tones. Draco Malfoy looked positively delighted, and all the Slytherins snickered.

The professor waited for the whispers to subside before continuing. "Five points from Gryffindor." He looked at Hermione. "This is _Bat_ Pixie Dust. I said to be specific."

"That's unfair!" said Harry furiously just as Hermione gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs.

Snape's eyes glittered. "And another five points for calling out, Potter."

They spent the rest of the lesson experimenting with the Bat Pixie Dust by adding it to different solutions and recording the effects.

"Your assignment," said Snape at the end of class, "is to write a two-part essay concerning the observations you recorded today, and the thirteen uses of Bat Pixie Dust. It must be at least two feet long, due next Tuesday. And Potter, you are to also give me a foot-long essay about the differences between healing powders and healing potions. Class dismissed."

Harry shoved out of the door angrily, with Hermione and Ron hurrying to follow him.

"You shouldn't have let him get to you, Harry," Hermione chided him anxiously.

"He just took thirty points from Gryffindor!" exclaimed Harry. "And it wasn't fair to take points just because you weren't specific enough!"

"Harry, you shouldn't—"

But Hermione didn't get to finish speaking, because just as they rounded the corner, they collided with a group of four or five Slytherins.

Harry fell backwards into Ron, and saw Hermione trip out of the corner of his eye.

"Watch where you're going!" Harry shot at them.

"Terribly sorry," drawled a familiar voice. "We all know how _sensitive_ you are, Potter. Wouldn't want to do damage to your head. It's not as if you can spare many more brain cells." They cackled with laughter at the stupid jeer.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron said, getting up and brushing his robes.

"Come _on_, you two," said Hermione, pulling them both away from the group.

"That half-witted git," Harry growled.

"_Ignore_ him, Harry," Hermione said very firmly.

Harry turned to glare at the group of Slytherins.

"Let's go." Ron pulled on Harry's arm.

"Wait. Look."

Ron and Hermione turned to follow Harry's eyes, which were watching Malfoy and his friends. Another group of Slytherins had rounded the corner, led by Mavros Blakrith, who was a year below Harry.

"Draco," leered Blakrith.

"Hello, Mavros," replied Malfoy coldly, his eyes flashing.

Harry saw the stiffness in his posture and was very curious. What caused this hostility to exist between the members of the same house?

"Isn't Blakrith..." Ron whispered uncertainly.

"Yeah, he's a Slytherin," said Harry.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Do any acts of _nobleness_ lately?" spat Blakrith. The Slytherins standing beside him glared menacingly at Draco and the people who accompanied him.

"Bugger off, Blakrith," said Malfoy. He turned around. "Let's go."

"What was _that_ all about?" said Ron once they returned to the common room.

"Dunno," said Harry, frowning.

"I wonder if Malfoy..." Hermione murmured pensively.

"What?" Ron and Harry said in unison.

"Hang on, I've got to go check." She hurried up to the girl's dormitories.

"There she goes again." Ron rolled his eyes.

When Hermione returned a moment later, Harry and Ron were playing a game of chess.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "Blakrith's parents are both Death Eaters."

Ron yawned. "So? We always knew there was something funny about him."

"What do you mean, 'so'? Don't you think it's strange for Malfoy and Blakrith to be enemies if both their parents are Death Eaters?"

"Maybe Blakrith's mad because his parents have been caught by the Ministry, but Malfoy's dad hasn't been caught yet."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron. "Check your facts, Ron. Malfoy's dad's been caught, and the Blakriths are still on the run."

"Well then, maybe it's the other way around—"

"_I_ think that maybe Malfoy's not as evil as you think," Hermione interrupted.

"But Hermione," Harry argued, "he's already a Death Eater."

"He could have done what Snape did," she said.

Ron snorted. "I doubt it."

"Well, just because you doubt it, it doesn't mean you're right!" she snapped at him, and stormed out of the common room. Harry had a good idea that she was heading for the library.

"What's with her?" Ron said, frowning after her.

"She's angry," Harry said needlessly, and moved his pawn forward.

"Huh. Must be the wrong time of the month."

As the days progressed, the taunts that were directed at Harry grew worse and worse. It seemed as if the entire school was aware of the hypersensitivity spell that had been placed on him. He found himself anticipating with dread, as he walked into each of his classes, the jeers that would be thrown at him.

"Ignore them," Hermione had to constantly remind him. "They're just trying to wind you up."

It was hard for him to concentrate on his homework, because even some of the Gryffindors had joined in sneering at him, and he could no longer use the common room as a sanctuary from the taunts of his classmates. Even out on the Quidditch pitch he was distracted. He knew his peers felt that it was his fault that something was wrong with Dumbledore, and many had lowered their opinions of him just because he had not been the one to defeat Voldemort. No one bothered to keep their voices down as they spoke about him behind his back.

"I feel sorry for him," he heard one third year say one day.

"Don't," her friend had replied sharply. "It's all his fault that Dumbledore's ill. He deserves it."

"Well, I suppose so..."

Harry had pushed past them roughly, and hadn't stopped to apologize when he caused one of the girls to drop her armload of books.

At night he had horrible dreams of Ron and Hermione saying similar things to him and telling him they were very disappointed to him. In one nightmare, he dreamed that Ron was sneering at him and saying he couldn't be his friend anymore.

"You killed me, Harry," the ghost of Dumbledore said to him in another dream. "You killed me," his ghost kept repeating as it followed Harry wherever he went. "How are you going to pay for what you have done?"

Harry had woken up from that dream shouting and thrashing with his sheets twisted about him.

"Ask Pomfrey for a dreamless sleep potion," Hermione said when Ron told her that Harry was having nightmares.

"No," Harry replied in an irritated voice. "She'll ask Snape to make it for her and then he'll want to know what she needs it for."

"But Harry, you're not sleeping well," Hermione protested. "Don't think I didn't catch you napping in History of Magic yesterday!"

"I'll be fine," he said shortly, and his friends didn't pursue the subject.

He soon solved the problem by sleeping as little as he possibly could. Every night, after everyone else had gone to bed, he crept down to the common room and sat by the fire, reading or doing homework. Sometimes it was hard to concentrate, but Harry still managed to stay awake.

"They need to serve tea," he said one morning at breakfast, stifling a yawn.

"They serve pumpkin juice because it's a good source of energy," Hermione told him.

Harry snorted derisively.

Hermione peered at him closely. "You haven't been sleeping, have you?"

"'Course I have," he said, not meeting her eyes.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried glance.

"What?" he said defiantly. "I haven't been snoring in Binns's class lately, if you didn't notice."

"You don't look very good, Harry," Hermione said quietly.

He sighed irritably. "I am perfectly _fine_."

He sat in the corner of the Slytherin common room, reading the latest book he had taken out of the library. _Corman's Guide to the Dark Arts_. It had been in the Restricted Section, and he had used a forged note from Snape to check it out. No one spoke to him as they passed in and out of the common room. He preferred it that way. A few of his classmates glared at him as they walked past his chair, but he ignored them, and appeared to be engrossed in his reading.

The reason why the Slytherins were disgruntled (perhaps 'disgruntled' was a bit of an understatement), was because a week ago, Blakrith had told everyone in the common room that Draco had betrayed the Dark Lord. They had refused to believe him at first, but when Draco remained silent, they soon they realized it was true. Most of the Slytherins, whose parents had supported the Death Eaters or had been Death Eaters themselves, had thrown him disgusted looks. The few who were from families that had always been loyal to Dumbledore did not speak to him for fear of angering the rest of the Slytherin students.

"Traitor," he still heard muttered often. Many of the students jeered at him at every opportunity they could get. It also appeared that the news had leaked out of the Slytherin common room, and there were many other students who knew that he had reformed. He hadn't yet decided whether this was a good or bad thing, and he himself neither smiled nor sneered at anyone.

In time, he became a pariah among the Slytherins. Sometimes he would go for days without saying a single word. The only people he ever spoke to were Snape and Dumbledore; he had no friends and his father had disowned him months ago, after a year of suspecting his betrayal. Lucius had finally confirmed his son's disloyalty to the Dark Lord when he discovered a letter on Draco's writing desk that he had carelessly forgotten to burn. The letter had been addressed to him from the headmaster, and although the contents had erased themselves once Draco read it, the name of the headmaster had remained on the outside of the parchment and that had been quite enough evidence for his father.

Draco had wondered, at the time, why his father had not killed him, or why his father not called the Dark Lord to punish him. But he soon realized that his father enjoyed seeing him chased, enjoyed knowing that he had become a marked man. His father knew that when Draco left Malfoy Manor he would go straight to Dumbledore, where he would be offered a sanctuary, and where he would also go directly into the service of the headmaster. And _he_ knew his father would not be punished for letting him go, because the Dark Lord would find a perverse pleasure in hunting him down and punishing him for his traitorous deeds. Draco was also well aware of the fact that the Dark Lord would have waited to kill him, because it would have been useful, somehow, for him to know that Draco was one of those that served Dumbledore.

But now, the Dark Lord had been defeated, and his father was in Azkaban. Draco was uncertain of what had happened to his mother, but he did not care very much. He hardly cared for anything anymore. Days passed him, one by one, each one exactly the same. Grades no longer really mattered to him, as he no longer needed to please his father, but he continued to work hard in school, because his good grades were all that remained for him to achieve.

And although grades were that all his life had become now, he failed to recieve the marks he once earned. The more his peers treated him as an outcast, the harder he found it was to study. He knew he should take advantage of the hours of silence that he now had every day to study hard, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not concentrate in class. Listening to the professors would mean hearing everything else as well, all the horrible words spoken behind his back, all the irritating taunts sent his way. He found it much simpler to shut _everything_ out, and heard neither jeer nor information.

Lately, he had reached a new obstacle. The students of other houses who had heard of his reform now blamed _him_ for making Dumbledore ill.

"He pretended to betray You-Know-Who to work for Dumbledore, and then he _really_ betrayed Dumbledore," Draco heard a fourth year say about him one day. "And that's why there's something wrong with Dumbledore."

So _that _was why students who were not Slytherins were also treating him like dung. They thought he had betrayed _Dumbledore_. The idea made him feel sick. Soon, Snape noticed something was different about him.

At the end of one Potions lesson, the professor asked for him to stay behind. "Class dismissed. Mr. Malfoy, I would like a word in my office."

The other students gave him dark glares as the passed his work table. He ignored them, drew a deep breath, and followed Snape into his office.

"What has been going on?" the professor asked him, his concern peeking through the scowl on his face.

"Nothing," Draco replied.

"You haven't been receiving your usual marks." Snape gave him a hard look.

Draco shrugged and surveyed his feet.

"Is it too difficult for you to have lessons among your peers?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"No." Draco shuffled his feet impatiently, still looking down. He wished the professor would let him go.

Snape said nothing for several moments. At last, Draco raised his eyes to meet his gaze.

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy. You are dismissed."

Draco could not discern from the professor's tone what he had concluded. Well, whatever it was that Snape thought, he didn't care. He left wordlessly and headed back to the Slytherin common room.

"Potter, I would like to speak with you," McGonagall said at the end of a Transfigurations lesson.

Harry looked up and nodded, shoving his books into his backpack.

"We'll meet you in the common room," Hermione said to him as she and Ron left the classroom.

He walked up to her desk after everyone had filed out the door.

"Potter, why have you not been sleeping?" She peered over the top of her spectacles at him.

At this question, Harry opened his mouth angrily.

"Miss Granger informed me," McGonagall said before he could speak. "She has also told me that she noticed you have had difficulty concentrating, lately. The reason, she believes, is the distress your classmates have been causing you."

"I have been perfectly fine!" he exclaimed with a scowl. "There's nothing wrong with my concentration!"

"Potter, your grades have dropped."

He glared at her.

"If you would like to become an Auror, Potter, you must maintain very high grades."

"I know that," he growled.

She stood. "Whether you care to admit it or not, the trouble you have been receiving from your classmates has been bothering you. To solve this problem, I have drawn up a new schedule for you. During the day, you will have a study session with Professor Lupin, whom I have invited back to Hogwarts, and in the evenings, you will receive private lessons from each of your professors, who have agreed to this schedule."

"Professor Lupin's coming back to teach?" But that was wonderful news! He could replace Tidrum, the clumsy professor who was currently teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"No, Professor Lupin is returning to assist you in your private study sessions," she replied. "You will be given bookwork to do, and he shall be there in case you have questions. However," and she lowered her voice as she said this, "he will be in and out, because he will also be doing work for the Order."

"But...Voldemort's gone. We don't need the Order anymore," Harry said, frowning.

"Some Death Eaters may try to take the Dark Lord's place now that he is gone. There is still work to be done. But we must not speak anymore of this issue here." Her voice returned to her normal speaking volume. "Your new schedule begins on Monday. Your study sessions will be held in the classroom directly opposite mine. You are to go there at the same time that your classes would normally begin."

"Professor, could you arrange for Professor Lupin to teach me Defense Against The Dark Arts?" Harry said hopefully.

She smiled at him. "Perhaps. You are dismissed, Potter."

Harry turned to leave. As he stepped into the doorway, McGonagall spoke.

"And one more thing," she said from behind her desk. "There will be one other student following the same schedule I have given you."

"Who?" Harry turned around.

"Draco Malfoy," she replied, appearing completely unconcerned.

He looked horrified. "But Professor—"

"Goodbye, Potter," she said firmly.


	3. Un Cambio de Corazón

**Title:** The Essential Ingredient 3  
**Author name:** Airiviel  
**Category:** Romance  
**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, Dumbledore  
**Pairings:** Draco/Harry  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers**: All five books  
**Summary:** When Voldemort is defeated, his powers linger within Dumbledore's tortured body. The Healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are unable to purge his mind and body of this evil magic, and as a result, it is slowly killing the famous headmaster. Harry, assisted by a reformed Draco, is determined to find a way to counter Voldemort's powers and save Dumbledore's life. But in assigning themselves this task, Harry and Draco find much more than they expect.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations shall be made where necessary.

**Chapter 3: Un Cambio de Corazón**

"Oh, it won't be that bad, Harry," said Hermione.

Harry glared at her. "I still can't believe you talked to McGonagall about me."

"Checkmate," said Ron, as one of his pieces moved forward.

"And now I've got to deal with Malfoy for hours every day," he grumbled.

"Checkmate," Ron repeated, a little louder.

"Fine, you win. I don't feel like playing anymore, anyway." Harry stood up.

"Where are you going?" Ron called after him.

"I've just remembered that there's something I want to talk to McGonagall about," he replied over his shoulder. In truth, he wanted to be left alone for a little while. He headed to the library and found a desk in the back that was somewhat concealed behind the shelves.

It all went back to that stupid dream. If he hadn't listened to it, Dumbledore wouldn't be dying, nobody would be bothering him with stupid taunts, he wouldn't be having nightmares, and he wouldn't have to have private lessons and study sessions with Malfoy. Harry sighed, feeling extremely frustrated. It was Sunday, and his new schedule would begin tomorrow. And, what cheer, he'd get to see Malfoy. He scowled to himself glumly.

Harry wondered whether McGonagall had spoken to Dumbledore about his new schedule for his classes. How ironic it was, Harry contemplated, that everyone had been, during what was now termed "the Dark Years," unable to bring themselves to say the name "Voldemort;" and now he himself could hardly say the headmaster's name without choking and stuttering on it.

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. He heard footsteps, but kept his eyes closed, hoping that whoever was coming would pass and leave him be. The footsteps grew louder and louder, closer and closer, until they stopped quite suddenly. Harry let his eyelids flutter open.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he said angrily.

"Nothing at all, Potter," Draco drawled lazily. "It's just that you happen to be sitting in _my_ chair at _my_ table."

"The library's for everyone to use, so bugger off and find another table. I got here first." He glared at the blond, hating every single one of the fine silvery hairs on his head.

Draco only offered a nonchalant shrug. "If you want to be childish like that, fine with me." He turned away.

Harry stood up, sputtering. "_You're_ the one who's being childish, Malfoy!"

The blond raised an eyebrow, looking back at Harry. Draco said nothing and watched him with mild interest for a moment before smirking. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Potter."

Staring after him, Harry sat down once again, feeling irritated, and wondering if he, in fact, had truly been the childish one.

The next morning, Harry trudged through the hall to the classroom that had been assigned to Lupin.

"Hello, Harry," Lupin said pleasantly as he stepped into the classroom and pulled out his chair. Malfoy was already there, and sat at his own desk, his slender fingers lazily twirling a spotted quill.

"Good morning, professor." Harry smiled, ignoring Malfoy's presence.

Lupin held out sheaves of parchments to Harry and Draco. "Professor McGonagall asked me to assign you these. This packet consists of two pages of work for each of your classes, and you are to complete them using your usual texts. Tonight your lessons will be History of Magic, Potions, and Herbology. Tomorrow evening, you shall have Transfiguration, Astronomy, and then you'll be taking Defense Against the Dark Arts with me."

"With you!" Harry exclaimed, grinning.

The professor's lined face broke into a smile. "Yes, Harry."

Harry noticed that although Malfoy did not look particularly happy with this news, he didn't look too disappointed either.

"The night after tomorrow," Lupin continued, "you will have whatever other classes you chose to take, such as Arithmancy or Divination." He raised his mug and took a sip of pumpkin juice. "You may begin. You must turn in the two pages assigned for each class to your respective teachers at your lessons, so I suggest you start with the work that has been given for tonight's lessons. I shall be in and out of the room, so in the event that you have a question, I'll be available to answer you."

Professor Lupin stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will be back in precisely half an hour." He smiled at Harry and left.

Harry opened his History of Magic textbook and dipped his quill into his bottle of ink, poising the quill above the paper thoughtfully. The first item on the page said: _Compose two to four paragraphs concerning the laws that were written and enforced by the Ministry of Magic in 1827. What were the main purposes of these laws? What major events forced the Ministry to make them? Minimum length: two and a half inches._ Harry yawned and shut his textbook. He would save this for later; might as well get the hard stuff done first. He reached for his Potions textbook, and flipped through the pages of the packet until he found Snape's assignment.

The first item at the top of _that_ page said: _State the nine properties of deer tongue, and explain why the Ministry of Magic banned the use of this ingredient in the seventeenth century. Describe four potions that originally required it, and give a detailed list of ingredients that are often used to substitute for it. Must be at least eight inches long._ Harry groaned inwardly as he read this, and flipped the pages to the back of the book to search in the index for "deer tongue."

"Death; Debrisanum Potion; Decimus Powder; Dedranumb, _Essence of_; Dedranumb Weed; Deer Fur, _Essence of_; Deer Hooves; Deer-Rythoeling Potion," he whispered aloud as his finger moved down the column of words. He sighed. Deer tongue wasn't in the book. How in the bloody hell was he supposed to write an eight-inch-essay about deer tongue if it wasn't in the book?

_I'll save that for last_, Harry decided. He flipped through the pages. The work assigned for herbology was pretty easy; he would do that first. The entire assignment was only: _Create a sketch of a healing plant of your choice. Label the parts of the plant, and on the second provided piece of parchment, write a short paragraph about the conditions in which this plant will grow. Five sentences minimum._

He spent fifteen minutes drawing a rough pencil sketch of a dwarf-conifer and describing the appropriate conditions and environment in which it could be found. He completed all four parts of the history assignment by writing in large script and paraphrasing several passages directly from the book. And now...back to Potions.

He glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. The blond was busily scribbling away on his parchments. Harry guessed he was working on the Potions assignment from the length of his writing.

Harry opened his mouth, and then shut it once more, feeling sheepish. At last he gave up and cleared his throat loudly. The Slytherin had no reaction. Harry cleared his throat again, letting out a small cough as well. Still no reaction.

Finally, he let go of all pretenses and said, "Er, Malfoy?"

The arrogant blond raised his head. "What?"

"Er, what are we supposed to do for the first part of the Potions assignment?"

"You answer the questions, of course," Draco drawled, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms out. "Did you even bother to read it?" As he stretched, his shirt rose up slightly above his midsection.

"No," Harry said absentmindedly, staring at the pale, muscular skin of Draco's stomach. "I mean, yes. Yes, I did read." _What the hell was that_? he thought to himself, feeling a little alarmed. Since when did he have a habit of staring at the midsections of other males?

Draco smirked, lowering his arms and picking up his quill again. "So what don't you understand? Or are you just having trouble thinking?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said angrily.

"You're the one who asked me," Draco shrugged.

"Well, you didn't help any," said Harry angrily. "I should've known you wouldn't."

"Fine, I'll help you," Draco said conversationally, and causing Harry to feel quite suspicious. "Don't know what deer tongue's for? Is that the trouble?"

Harry remained silent, feeling peevish and resentful.

"Deer tongue," the Slytherin said, capping his ink bottle, "is a very delicate ingredient. It has many special properties..."

_Great,_ Harry thought to himself, letting Malfoy's voice drown out in his own thoughts. _I've now been reduced to taking lectures from Malfoy._

"...and was usually used by men to attract lovers. Are you listening to me, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry said, stifling a yawn. _Now here's an interesting situation. Since when is Malfoy my teacher? Well, I suppose it's better than Snape._ Harry was immediately horrified by this thought. _Scratch that. Nothing is worse than having to endure Malfoy for hours every day._

"Potter, I'm not going to waste my breath if you aren't going to listen."

"Like you'd really help, anyway," Harry retorted.

Draco feigned a wounded look. "I'm sitting here telling you about deer tongue because you asked me, and this is the kind of thanks you give me?"

"I didn't ask you for help. You just started talking at me."

"Well," Draco said, rolling up his parchment, "in that case, I shan't be bothering you anymore."

Harry rolled his eyes and reread the first part of the assignment several times. He gave up.

"Alright, Malfoy. I _do_ need your help."

Draco threw him a smug look before speaking. "As I was saying, deer tongue was a very key ingredient. It was used mainly from the seventeen to eighteen hundreds. There were various things that it could be used for, such as healing potions, cheering droughts, mixtures for better concentration, many types of potions to do with love, et cetera. But for the most part, it was used by men to attract lovers."

"Hang on," Harry said rather defeatedly, "lemme write this down." If he ever had to take notes off Malfoy again, he would Avada Kedavra himself. "...Cheering droughts...mixtures...for...better concentration...What else did you say?"

"It was mostly used," Draco repeated, "by men to attract lovers."

"...Used...by...men...to...attract...lovers."

"Of the same sex," Draco added.

"Of...the...same...s—what?" Harry looked up, raising his eyebrows.

Draco cleared his throat, and repeated in a louder voice: "Of the same sex."

"Yeah, right, Malfoy. Are you going to help or not? I'm not going to take bullshit from you if you're just going to pull my leg."

"I'm being serious." Draco peered, unblinking, into Harry's green eyes.

"You honestly think I'm going to believe that Snape would assign us something about an ingredient for guys to attract male lovers?"

"Have it your way," the blond shrugged. "If you don't believe me, don't ask for my help."

Harry angrily tore off the strip of parchment and discarded it in the wastebin. He refused to ask Lupin for help while in the presence of Malfoy, so instead he made up something for deer tongue that sounded alright; it was based off a passage about raccoon tongue, although he knew very well that he probably got a zero for that part...as well as every other part of the Potions assignment. For the rest of the day, he refused to speak to the blond Slytherin, and he was quite exhausted by the end of History of Magic.

He trudged up the stairs wearily, finally reaching the Gryffindor common room, where Hermione and Ron were waiting for him.

"Well, how were your lessons?" Hermione asked him.

"Alright," Harry managed to mumble. "I reckon I didn't do too bad on that Potions thing that Snape gave us."

"Quidditch practice, tomorrow night," Ron reminded him.

"Yeah...wait, what?" Harry squinted his eyes through the firelight of the common room.

"We've got Quidditch practice, remember?"

Harry groaned. "But I've got Transfiguration, Astronomy, and then Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow night! How on earth will I fit in _Quidditch practice_?"

"Maybe you could skip a class," Ron suggested.

"No, I don't think that would be a very good idea," Hermione said with a frown.

Harry sighed. "I'll talk to McGonagall tomorrow morning."

"No Quidditch!" Harry exclaimed angrily as he sat down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. "I can't play Quidditch anymore, because of my stupid schedule!"

"What?" shouted Ron, spilling his pumpkin juice. "McGonagall can't do that! Look how badly Gryffindor did when Umbridge banned you from Quidditch! You've _got_ to play, mate!"

"Maybe it's better this way, Harry," Hermione said. "At least you'll be able to concentrate on your schoolwork more."

Harry shot her an angry glare, and refused to speak to her for the rest of the morning. It was _her_ fault, after all, that he had to spend most of his time with Malfoy, and even _more_ her fault that he could no longer play Quidditch.

It was with much bitterness that he flung open the door to Lupin's classroom and walked in, throwing his things to the floor and slumping into his seat.

"Having a bad day, Harry?" Lupin asked him kindly.

"I can't play Quidditch anymore," he replied angrily, kicking the leg of his desk.

"Neither can I," Malfoy drawled, twirling his quill in his fingers. "But you don't see _me_ throwing a temper tantrum."

Harry glared at him. "Sod off, Malfoy."

"There are more important things than Quidditch, Harry," Lupin told him. "It may not seem that way now, but you'll adjust to your new schedule soon enough. And then, given some time, perhaps you will discover for yourself...something that you care about far more than a sport played on broomsticks."

Harry did not respond to this, and he was unsure of whether he was feeling better or worse.

Lupin smiled at him and stood up. "I'll be leaving you now, I've got to speak with Professor Snape, and then I'll be off to...run some errands. I'll be back in...an hour, shall we say? Remember, you've got those assignments to work on. And do try to get along in my absence." He took his briefcase with him as he left the room.

As the door closed, Draco stood up slowly. He went to Lupin's desk and lowered to crouch on the ground, reaching his arm under the oak desk to collect something. Harry watched as the blond retrieved a piece of parchment.

"What's that?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Lupin's dropped something," Draco said, peering at the parchment with interest.

A very unusual feeling flared up within Harry, a wave of anger that seemed rather pointless to him but spilled over all the same; it boiled his insides and turned his face a deep shade of red, his eyes darkening with rage. He rose from his seat, extending his arm. "Give that here."

"No. I found it, didn't I?" Draco returned to his seat, the parchment still in his hand.

"It's not yours to read," Harry said, the strange feeling dumping itself straight into the pit of his stomach. He felt, all of a sudden, quite ill and quite furious. He swallowed and strode to Malfoy's desk. "Give it to me." His fist was tightly clenched, and he could feel his hand shaking.

"No."

"Malfoy, you do not have the right to read that!" His voice was trembling with rage.

"The stupid werewolf shouldn't have dropped it, then," Draco said, holding the parchment out of Harry's reach.

Harry pulled out his wand, pointing it at Draco's forehead. "If you don't give me that right now," he said in a low voice, "I am going to hex you."

Draco turned his head to see the wand pointed directly at the spot between his eyes. Before Harry knew it, the blond had snatched his wand away and slipped out of his chair. Harry tumbled over the desk, landing at Draco's feet. Malfoy stood above him, pointing his wand at him.

"Petrificus Tota—"

With a good kick to the shin, Draco was on the ground. Harry pulled himself up. His wand was far away on the other side of the room, where Malfoy had flung it when he fell. The blond rolled onto his stomach to pick himself up, but Harry, in all his mounting anger, connected his foot to Draco's stomach.

Draco gasped in pain and clutched his side. He reached up and gave the edge of Harry's robes a good tug, causing him to trip and also fall to the ground. Malfoy viciously slammed his elbow into Harry's shoulder.

"Accio parchment!" Harry snatched up Draco's wand and cried as he rolled away from the blond.

"Give me that," the blond snarled, rising from the ground.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, and Draco froze in his steps, falling down backwards.

Harry allowed himself a few moments to catch his breath. Sweat dripped from his chin, and he panted as he slipped into his chair. Curiosity caught the better of him, and he allowed himself to peek at the first sentence that was scrawled on the parchment.

_"To Healer Priston. The Order has discovered a new symptom of Albus Dumbledore's illness. Often, the headmaster is found to be murmuring in his sleep. This sleep talk usually begins just after midnight, and ends shortly after one in the morning. The pattern of his muttering seems to be that it only occurs during the nights of the week preceding each full moon. It is difficult to determine what it is he says, for often he speaks in multiple languages. The Order would like to observe him during the nights, for there have been occasions on which it seems that the headmaster has been trying to tell the Order something important. We would like to request a special room in St. Mungo's where Dumbledore can be monitored during those weeks when he murmurs in his sleep._

"I would also like to speak to you about Harry Potter. We have been watching him at Hogwarts, and it appears that he does not show the same symptoms as did Albus Dumbledore, prior to his coma. However, we do not know if we can be sure of his safety, for we were told that it is possible that his blood still contains traces of the Magic. Our nurse has given him the Draexious Potion, which I myself brewed. Due to its side effects, we deemed it unsafe for him to be among other students. We hope that this will be..."

Harry would have continued reading, but at that moment, Draco stirred on the ground, and he had only time to glance at the signature on the bottom of the parchment that read _Severus Snape_ before he stuffed it into his pocket and the blond's eyes fluttered open.

"Where's the parchment?" Draco said, staring at Harry through squinted eyes.

"I don't know," Harry lied. "I couldn't find it after I stunned you."

"Liar." Draco glared at him and rose from the floor, brushing his robes.

"It wasn't meant to be read by you, anyway," Harry said.

"So what?" Draco argued. "It involved me; I had a right to read it."

"You had no right at all—wait, what do you mean it _involved_ you?"

The Slytherin turned his head to look at Harry, his eyebrows raised. "Apparently _you_ didn't read enough of the letter."

"What are you talking about?" said Harry, annoyed, and dropping all pretenses. "That letter was about _me_, not you."

"It was a report that Snape made to St. Mungo's on behalf of the Order—"

"The _Order_?" Harry repeated suspiciously. "And how would _you_ know about the Order, Malfoy? Been spying much?"

"Of course I've been spying," Draco replied nonchalantly. "That's my job, isn't it?"

"And you're talking like all you're doing is giving me the weather report!" Harry raised his eyebrows. Something was...odd. Was Malfoy...? No, Harry said to himself. It wasn't possible.

"Well, it isn't as if that's news to you, is it?" Draco raised his eyes to meet Harry's. He stared for a moment. "You mean you didn't know?" He sneered. "It's no wonder you've been like that."

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" said Harry, losing his patience.

Draco smirked and returned to his seat, not replying.

Harry, who was thoroughly exasperated, also returned to his seat and decided to spend the rest of the time ignoring Malfoy and finishing his assignments. Lupin returned, after a while, and remained in the classroom, looking through some papers while Harry and Draco worked in silence. Soon it was lunchtime, and Harry packed up his books to head to the Great Hall.

"See you, Professor," Harry said, heading for the door. There was a clatter, and Harry looked down to see that he had dropped his wand. He bent to retrieve it, and felt something brush against his sleeve. It was Draco, and he had picked up the wand before Harry's hand had even extended to reach for it.

"Careful with that, Potter," said Malfoy, holding out the wand, giving Harry a half-smirk.

Harry took his wand, shot an angry glare at Draco, and left.

He heard a loud rumble in his stomach as he slipped into his seat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table.

"How was your morning?" Hermione asked him brightly.

"It was...interesting," Harry replied. "And my shoulder is bruising nicely, but besides that—"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione scowled, "you didn't have a duel with Malfoy, did you?"

He shook his head. "I didn't," he said, which was somewhat the truth.

"No," Ron said with a triumphant grin. "It was a fist fight, wasn't it?"

"I suppose you could call it partly that," Harry said, avoiding Hermione's reproachful look, "but forget about the fighting for a moment, and listen. Before Lupin left us, he apparently dropped a parchment under his desk. Malfoy saw it, and as soon as Lupin left, he went to pick it up and read it."

Hermione made a disapproving noise. "Is _that_ what you were fighting over? A stupid little piece of parchment? Harry—"

"Listen," he interrupted impatiently, "will you forget about the fighting for a minute? When Malfoy picked up the parchment, I had this really strange, overwhelming feeling that I had to stop him from reading it. It was the strangest thing I've ever felt. Anyway, I got the parchment from him, it's right here—"

He reached into his pocket only to find that the wrinkled piece of parchment was no longer there. Immediately it dawned on him.

Harry groaned in frustration. "Damnit! Malfoy must have taken it from me! And I didn't even get a chance to finish reading it..." He explained to Ron and Hermione the little bit of what Snape wrote that he was able to read, and then hurried back to Lupin's classroom. The rest of the day passed without incident, and Harry successfully ignored Draco's numerous attempts to irritate him.

Professor Lupin was not in the classroom when Harry opened the door the next morning. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of leafs of paper scattered around the room and Malfoy making planes out of pieces of parchment and then bewitching them to fly around the room. As Harry stepped into the room, one particularly large plane zoomed towards his head, and he ducked to avoid being poked by it.

"_Finite Incantatum_," Harry said, pointing his wand at the flying pieces of parchment, and glaring at Draco for making a mess of the parchments.

The blond shrugged. "_Evanesco!_" The leafs of paper strewn on the ground disappeared. "We got our homework papers back." He pointed at the small bundle of rolls of parchments on Harry's desk.

The first bit of writing that caught Harry's attention as he neared the desk was a large 23/85 in red that peeked out from beneath a ribbon circling a roll of parchment. Harry didn't need to untie it to know that it was his Potions assignment.

"Damnit," he cursed irritably. He didn't need to look at Malfoy's smug face to know that the blond had already seen his grade.

Draco smirked. "Nice big twenty-three, eh? That's a twenty-seven percent, you know?"

"Yeah, thanks for helping, Malfoy," he retorted angrily.

"Hey, it was your fault you didn't listen to me. I was telling the truth."

Harry glared at him. "Uh-huh, sure you were."

"Have a look at this, if you don't believe me," Draco said, holding up his roll of parchment, where there was an obvious and large red 85/85 in the corner.

"What!" Harry reached to snatch the parchment from Draco disbelievingly, his fury growing. As his hand closed around the end of the roll, his knuckle brushed against Draco's thumb, and the small touch sent shivers up his arm and down his spine. He froze involuntarily, trying to hold onto the quickly fading and pleasant shock of the light contact, his hand still holding the end of the roll.

"Potter?" Draco said, looking at him uncertainly.

"What?" replied Harry very vaguely. "Oh." He recovered himself, avoiding Draco's eyes, and unrolled the parchment, skimming the paragraphs of neat and loopy cursive penmanship. Sure enough, everything that Draco had told him about deer tongue was true. It _was_ used by men to attract lovers, and it had several very...unusual results when consumed.

"I was telling the truth," Draco repeated.

Feeling suddenly quite infuriated, Harry flung the roll of parchment back at Draco, who dropped it in surprise.

Harry sat down and began to read chapter six of his History of Magic text, pretending to ignore Draco. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Draco shrug and sit down in his own seat. The two did not share any conversation for the rest of the hour. Lupin returned from wherever he had been, and ushered Draco off to see Professor Snape, leaving Harry to spend his time alone in the room with a new packet of assignments. He spent the rest of the day practicing a new Transfiguration spell.

Weeks passed in similar episodes. Harry and Draco argued often, and on occasion, broke into fist fights or wand duels. But as they spent more and more time in the other's company, they grew accustomed to each other, and soon Harry found that he didn't really mind Draco's acquaintance, if acquaintance it could be called. The two were almost...civil. Almost.

Harry had nearly forgotten about the spell; he'd grown very accustomed to the physical hypersensitivity. And as he no longer had to endure the taunts and jeers of his fellow students, and he could now tolerate Draco's presence, he rarely experienced any strong, exaggerated emotions of hate or anger. It was like he was living in a world of indifference.

One morning, as Harry stared lazily out the window, his thoughts drifting, he began to wonder exactly _why_ Malfoy shared his schedule. He knew, of course, that the students had also been giving the Slytherin problems similar to his own, but he didn't quite understand their given reason for it. And he had been very curious about it, of course, on many occasions.

Harry chewed on the insides of his cheeks, pensive and silently debating whether or not he could ask the question and get a real answer. On one hand, now that the mutual anger and hatred between them had dissipated, perhaps Malfoy would be more willing to give him a somewhat substantial answer. But on the other hand, Malfoy could still detest him as he always had, and then after refusing to answer the question, he would begin to wonder why Harry was thinking so much about him.

But as these thoughts ran through Harry's head, he couldn't help but wonder even more about the situation. At last, when his curiosity was so strong he could no longer help it, he blurted out, "Malfoy—"

He paused, and the blond looked up sharply, almost startled. They had exchanged no words for almost the entire hour, and the name pierced the air like a newly sharpened dagger.

"What?"

Harry hesitated before saying, "Why are you taking lessons separate from everyone else?"

Rather than the sneer Harry had expected, Malfoy stiffened, losing his composure in front of Harry for the first time since they began their private study sessions, and his already cold gaze became even icier, his silver eyes crystallizing with what seemed like anger.

"Why are _you_ taking lessons in private?" His voice was dangerously low with a sharp edge that Harry easily detected. "Surely you didn't think you were so far above everyone else that no one could have similar troubles."

It was the old Malfoy Harry had known: the hateful, arrogant Slytherin. "We're in different situations." He was beginning to regret his question. He was becoming furious, and he wasn't quite sure why..."You—"

"Perhaps, Potter, we're not so different as you think," Draco interrupted, looking upon Harry with disdain and impatience.

"Look," Harry said very angrily, "the reason why _I_ have this schedule is because _you_ took it into your mind to tell the whole school about the spell that Pomfrey put on me—"

"_I_ took it into my mind?" Draco repeated with disgust. "You flatter me. As if I would do something like that."

"Of course you would!" Harry exclaimed with a strange rage that did not quite seem to be his own. "Who else could it have been?"

"Well, it figures that you'd be so shallow-minded to immediately give me the blame. It was Mavros Blakrith, who happened to be in the infirmary at the same time you were. You probably didn't see him, he was lying in a bed and his curtains were probably drawn—"

"Liar!" Harry shouted, although he wasn't very sure why he did – a part of him really did believe Draco, as much as he didn't want to. Perhaps he just needed someone to be angry at... He bit his lip thoughtfully, and flashes of what Pomfrey had told him about the potion ran through his head, a reminder of his hypersensitive emotions and senses. He looked up to see Draco staring at him, stunned by his strange outburst.

The blond recovered, and his pallid features hardened. "Well, if you don't believe me, I have no reason to answer your question." He turned back to his work, picking up the gray quill in his slender fingers.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to the Slytherin, and for the first time in his life, he was in earnest to gain Draco's trust. He knew not why, for he was not sure if he trusted the blond himself. "I shouldn't have said that. I-I couldn't help it. I do believe you." He really did feel sorry, and he didn't understand why he was having such strange mood swings. _It must be the potion_, he said to himself.

Draco stared at him with obvious surprise at the apology. Harry had never before seen him so exposed, without the sneer and the conceited attitude. Without it, the Slytherin was rather the opposite of how he usually seemed, and his innocence touched Harry, causing him to almost feel warmth toward the other boy.

But his coldness soon returned, and even though it was not as strong as it was before, it disappointed Harry. "I suppose," Draco said icily, "that you want me to answer your question now that you've been such a saint and apologized. Well, if you absolutely must know, everyone thought that I could have prevented what happened to Dumbledore, and because I didn't, they began to think that I betrayed him." He looked away as he said this.

"Wait, I don't understand," Harry said, his eyebrows knitting together. "Why did they think you could prevent it?"

"Because," Malfoy replied after a moment, and Harry could swear he sounded like he was choking on the words, "I knew about the Cage."

"But of course you knew...your father designed it, after all..." Harry regretted these words the moment they were out from behind his teeth. It was rude and it was and uncalled for; what on earth had possessed him to say that without thinking?

Draco threw a sharp look at him. "You still don't get it?" he said disbelievingly. "How dense _are_ you, Potter? After all this time, you still don't know?"

"If you're going to tell me something, then just say it," said Harry, clenching his fists in irritation.

"My father _disowned_ me, Potter," Draco spat bitterly, his eyes black with with a mix between hatred and anger, and Harry couldn't tell if it was directed at him. "He kicked me out of Malfoy Manor."

Harry stared at him. "Why?"

"Haven't you got a head? Even you can't be _that_ stupid! Didn't I tell you that my job was to spy?"

"You mean..." Harry began slowly. _Could it be_? He didn't believe it. "You mean you weren't spying for Voldemort? You were spying...for the _Order_? For _Dumbledore_?"

"Congratulations, Potter," Draco said in a sardonically bored voice. "It took you long enough."

"It never occurred to me—I didn't—"

Harry cut himself off. Of course Draco had reformed. It made complete sense, with the way he'd been acting lately. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"I never thought you would do that," Harry said in a quiet voice.

The blond did not reply to this, and turned away from him again. Harry found that he was unable to work for the rest of the afternoon; he was too distracted by what he had learned, and also troubled by the overwhelming effects of the potion, which was now causing his jumbled thoughts and feelings to turn into a headache.

As the days passed, each one almost no different than the other, Harry realized that he had begun to look at Draco with a new respect for him. In time, he actually began to admire the blond Slytherin. He marveled at the courage the other boy must have had to defy both the Dark Lord and his own father. Harry knew, now, that Draco's bitterness and arrogance must be an aftereffect of the horrible things he must've gone through, and he learned to pity the blond. Harry began to wonder if Malfoy and Snape were much different.

He also noticed the small things that he had never observed before. Such as the way Draco twirled his quill between two fingers whenever he was deep in thought, and the way he always wrapped his quills in a silk cloth before putting them away to keep them in good condition and prevent them from snapping. He grew fond of how Draco's fine, blond hair had a habit of falling into those silver-crystal eyes, and often Harry caught himself staring at the Slytherin. Harry wondered frequently, when this happened, why he was looking at Draco this way. He had never before experienced such fascination with other males, and now it bothered him. But try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from staring involuntarily out of the corner of his eyes for hours every day while he pretended to pore over his work.

It was on such a day, as Harry watched with a strange fascination the steady rhythm of the quill twirling around and around between Draco's fingers, that Snape entered Lupin's classroom with a terribly worried face that Harry had never before seen.

"Remus," said the professor urgently, vexation leaking involuntarily from his voice, "Come quickly."

Lupin stood. "What is it?"

"Dumbledore," Snape replied shortly. "He's having a magical seizure."

"How—" Lupin cut off and nodded mutely, gathering a few items and following Snape out the door and down the hallway. He said not a word to Harry and Draco; it seemed that in his rush he had forgotten them.

The two students sat silently at their desks for a moment, each deep in thought of what had occurred only seconds ago. It was quite a few long-lasting minutes before Harry spoke.

"We've got to do something," he said, turning to Draco. For some reason, he suddenly felt like he could trust the blond with anything in the world. Maybe it was the fact that he now knew Draco had reformed and had been working for Dumbledore, or maybe it was the fact that he no longer hated him. Whatever it was, it compelled him to ask the other boy for help. "We've got to...I dunno, stop this somehow."

Draco stared at him for a moment. "Why us?"

"What d'you mean, 'why us'? Don't you realize that we're the only ones who really _know_ what's going on? The rest of the school is scared out of their wits; they think that Dumbledore'll probably attack them or something. They think he's gone mad. We're the only ones who can do anything!"

"Potter," Draco said, sounding rather bored, "use your head for a moment. Do you honestly believe we can help Dumbledore if none of the teachers can?"

"The professors all think he's going to keel over and die any day now, they haven't got any hope," Harry said angrily. "At least we've got the determination to help!"

"But—"

"Fine, Malfoy. You don't have to help if you're so reluctant. I, however, plan on doing everything in my power to keep Dumbledore alive."

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. "You don't have to sound like a lame Muggle superhero. Of course I'll help. "

Harry was about to reply angrily before his mind actually comprehended Draco's last statement. Relief sank into his stomach, uncurling it; he hadn't even realized how tense he had been. He didn't understand why it mattered so much, why he wanted so much for Draco to help him. _Of course I'll help._ The strangeness of the tone and the shock of hearing the Slytherin say those words was enough to render Harry speechless.


	4. Fiducia

**Title:** The Essential Ingredient 4  
**Author name:** Airiviel  
**Category:** Romance  
**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, Dumbledore, Snape  
**Pairings:** Draco/Harry  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers**: All five books  
**Summary:** When Voldemort is defeated, his powers linger within Dumbledore's tortured body. The Healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are unable to purge his mind and body of this evil magic, and as a result, it is slowly killing the famous headmaster. Harry, assisted by a reformed Draco, is determined to find a way to counter Voldemort's powers and save Dumbledore's life. But in assigning themselves this task, Harry and Draco find much more than they expect.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations shall be made where necessary.

**Chapter 4: Fiducia**

"I think," Harry said to Draco the next morning, "that a visit to Dumbledore is in order."

Lupin, with a very exhausted face, had only walked in that morning to greet Harry and Draco with a forced smile. Then he'd left again, excusing himself to a meeting with the other faculty members that undoubtedly concerned Professor Dumbledore.

"I suppose we must," Draco agreed in a reluctant voice that Harry knew was quite phony. He knew the blond was not so terribly inconsiderate as he always tried to seem.

They quickly walked down the hallway leading to the infirmary. Harry had decided that he didn't want to share his Invisibility Cloak with Malfoy just yet, and it wouldn't do for them to return _after_ Lupin's meeting with the other teachers had ended. Harry was sure that despite his usual cheer and lenience, the professor would be angry with them, especially if he found out where they had been. Nearly no one was allowed into Dumbledore's private room in the infirmary; Madame Pomfrey was concerned that he would be bothered, and might grow even more ill.

The two students peered into the nurse's room to be sure that she, too, was present at the faculty meeting, and hurried into the new room that had been created for the sake of harboring the headmaster.

Harry stared at Dumbledore's lined face. He seemed entirely at peace, his frail body moving almost imperceptibly as his chest rose with each breath. In sleep, his face was very gentle, and reminded Harry of a young boy, despite his age. Harry could see the blue veins underneath the headmaster's pallid complexion, and he felt a sudden pang inside him as Dumbledore's old age became painfully apparent. He watched the professor with a strange nostalgic sadness, his throat feeling parched and sore. This was the man who had almost been a father to him. This was the man who had protected him, who, Harry now realized, had loved him as a son, who had always been there to advise him and teach him. Harry forgot that Draco was next to him, and some spark inside him compelled him to lean down and kiss the headmaster's brow, which was silver with age. As he straightened again, he was reminded of Draco's presence, and he stiffened, expecting a mockery of some sort. But it never came. The blond was silent.

Harry was suddenly in great need of someone to speak to, and wished that Draco wasn't there. He wished that Ron, or Hermione, who was forever understanding, could be here to listen to him, to console him, to let him sob upon their shoulders for all the mistakes he had made in his life. He needed to express himself in words, to say something aloud for the sake of hearing them himself.

"He was...almost the parent I never had," Harry said, his voice cracking. He was speaking more to himself than to Draco. "Both of them. Dumbledore and Sirius." Harry briefly realized that he must have momentarily lost his sanity to be confiding in the Slytherin.

But the blond nodded mutely.

"We can't let him die," Harry whispered hoarsely, shaking his head. "We can't."

Draco drew a deep breath before speaking. "I never had a father. Not really. And my mother was never there." His voice was quiet, so much so that the other boy was greatly surprised. "You're lucky to have so many people love you." Harry could hear the slight bitterness in the blond's wistful tone.

"Harry? Draco?"

The two boys both turned to see Lupin standing in the doorway. "I thought you might be here." His voice was kind, and not at all chiding.

"I'm sorry professor," Harry began apologetically. "It was my idea to come, I—"

Lupin smiled. "It's alright, Harry."

Both boys relaxed visibly, and turned back to the headmaster. Lupin moved to join them at the side of Dumbledore's bed.

"Professor Lupin—" Harry hesitated, looking up at Lupin's weary face. "He's not getting any better, is he?"

The professor sighed audibly. "No, I'm afraid he isn't."

"What's wrong with him...exactly?" asked Draco in a tentative voice that Harry had never heard him use. "I mean, we know that the evil power in his body is killing him...but what happened yesterday?"

"He experienced a magical seizure," Lupin replied at last, after a long moment. "It means that the foreign magic inside him tried to take control of his body, and his own powers reacted violently to repell it. It's a very dangerous situation, and it rarely ever happens."

"But I thought Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape had been using spells to try to prevent something like this from happening," Draco said quietly.

Lupin nodded gravely. "Yes. But the spells failed, and after the seizure, the potions and the other charms stopped working."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked in a sharp voice. "They _can't_ stop working!"

"It means," the professor said very gently, "that the headmaster is beyond our help."

"No," Harry shook his head insistently. "I don't believe it. There must be some—some spell, or another potion—there must be _something_ that you're overlooking."

"I'm afraid there's really nothing else, Harry," Lupin replied with a sad and tired look. "We've tried our best."

Harry felt the anger rise up in him, involuntarily. _No_, he thought to himself, willing the rage to subside. It was senseless; why was he so ridiculously angry? But the frustration was too much, and combined with the effects of the spell upon him, he found himself shouting furiously. "Your best isn't _enough_, Professor! What have _you_ done? What have _you_ tried to _do_? Absolutely nothing! How can you say that you've tried your best if you're calling 'your best' what Madam Pomfrey and Snape have done? What have the other professors done? You've all stood about staring sadly at Dumbledore, but you haven't done a single thing! Not _one_ thing that could help him! You're all—" He stopped himself, realizing that he was ranting and speaking of senseless things.

Lupin looked shocked at his outburst. "Harry—"

Draco interrupted him, speaking with a hint of his arrogant drawl. "He doesn't know what he's saying, Professor. It's the spell that Madam Pomfrey put on him—the one that hypersensitizes his emotions and senses. He's only frustrated."

Harry sat down wearily. _No, I _do_ know what I'm saying._ He wanted to argue with Draco—who seemed too calm, after all that they were being told—Harry wanted to tell Lupin that he meant everything he had said. But another part of him told him it wasn't true, Malfoy was right. He was raving like a madman, and it was because of the potion. And what _had_ he said? Nothing...only a bunch of nonsense that only a fool would say. Harry felt suddenly ashamed of himself, and buried his head in his arms. He was only dimly aware of conversation occurring between Lupin and Malfoy; the words seemed so vague and distorted... He couldn't hear very clearly what they were saying; he didn't _want_ or _care_ to hear, either.

At last it seemed that the room had grown silent once more, and he looked up. Professor Lupin had gone, and Malfoy was sitting in a chair that was drawn up to Dumbledore's bed.

"Where did Lupin go?"

"He went back to his classroom," Draco replied, not turning around. "He said we could stay, if we wanted."

Harry pulled his chair up alongside the blond's. "He looks so old."

"He _is_ old, Potter."

"But he never really looked it," Harry said.

Draco shrugged. "If you don't think that having wispy white hair and wrinkly skin makes you look old..."

Harry threw him a sharp look. "That's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Harry asked in a neutral tone after a long moment.

The Slytherin turned his head and raised his eyebrow. "You were pretty quick to trust me yesterday."

"You mean I was too rash," Harry said dryly. "I've been given no reason to trust you. I shouldn't have just jumped to it yesterday."

Draco stared at him. "Potter, what's with you?"

"Seriously, tell me why I should trust you?"

"What reason do you have to _not_ trust me?" the blond replied.

Harry snorted. "I can give you several. One, your father was one of Voldemort's most valuable Death Eaters. Two, you've been raised in a family of Dark Wizards, and everyone can guess you've been taught quite a few tricks concerning the Dark Arts. Three, you've been nothing but a git since that first day I met you when I was being fitted for my school robes. Four, you've always—"

"Alright," Draco interrupted. "I get the point. And I suppose it wouldn't suffice if I told you very simply that I've changed?"

"Malfoy, do you honestly think that I would believe you've _changed_ after all these years?"

"Yes," the blond replied with an earnest tone.

Opening his mouth to speak, Harry found to his own surprise that...despite everything, he _did_ believe that Draco had reformed. He shut his mouth and slumped in his chair, feeling rather defeated, and unable to think of any words to counter the firm "yes" that Malfoy had given him.

"You _do_ believe me, don't you?" Draco said, sitting up in his chair. "You can't think of anything to say because you _know_ you believe me, and you can't help it. And maybe, one of these days, you'll start realizing that I _am_ a decent person, and not the horrible, slimy git you still think I am."

"Malfoy—" Harry began, although he wasn't sure what he was going to say.

"I'm leaving. There are things I have to do." And so he rose from his chair and left the room.

Harry remained sitting in his wooden chair, contemplating what had occurred in the past few moments, and unable to decide what it was he was feeling, exactly. All at once he felt confusion, contempt, sadness, and shame fill his heart. Had he really misjudged Malfoy so badly? Or had it been misjudgment that the blond had deserved? And now, why did he feel so guilty and stung by Draco's words? Harry decided that these were questions he could figure out later. But for now, he needed to find Ron and Hermione.

He soon found his friends sitting in the Gryffindor common room quarreling over something McGonagall had gone over in class. He interrupted them, not really caring to participate in their argument, nor act as their audience.

"Listen, you two," He said impatiently. "Shush for a moment, I've got to talk to you about something important." When he finally had their attention, he explained to them what had happened to Dumbledore on the previous day. "...And now all the professors have given up hope. Even Lupin says there's nothing else to be done."

"They're going to just let him die?" Ron exclaimed with a horrified look on his face.

"Well, _obviously_ not quite so literally. The professors aren't going to just sit there and watch him die," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"But that's pretty much what it sounds like, isn't it?" Harry said grimly.

Ron shook his head. "How can they just give up like that?"

"Well, _I'm_ certainly not giving up. Malfoy and I—"

"What? '_Malfoy and I_?' Don't tell me you've become friends!" Ron said, a slight scowl on his face.

"Just listen," Harry said. "Malfoy and I are planning on trying to help Dumbledore ourselves. We need _your_ help. Both of you."

Hermione began to speak. "I think—"

"No way!" Ron interrupted before she could finish. "I'm not helping with anything that involves _Malfoy_."

"How can you be so inconsiderate, Ron?" Hermione said reproachfully. "He's trying to help, too!"

"And how does Malfoy have anything to do with this, anyway?" Ron asked, ignoring Hermione as if she hadn't spoken.

Harry threw his books down angrily. He realized that he probably should not have expected Ron to understand. "He has _everything_ to do with it! We're taking classes together...we're going through the same thing. He's not—"

"You—you—how can you turn your back on us like this, and just suddenly start siding with _Malfoy_?" Ron sputtered furiously. "—Is he _blackmailing_ you, Harry?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, feeling the frustration and anger building from within him once more. "That's ridiculous! Nobody's blackmailing me! And I'm not _siding_ with anyone – there's nothing going on that involves choosing sides!"

Hermione stood up. "Ron, stop this, you're not—"

"Why, then, Harry?" he shouted, interrupting her yet again. "_Why_ are you acting like this? Have you lost your _mind_?"

"Ron!" Hermione yelled. "Stop it! You're being immature!"

Harry took off his glasses and squeezed his eyes shut. His head was throbbing, and his scar was stinging with pain. _It must be the spell_, he thought to himself. Voldemort was dead; he knew his scar couldn't be hurting because of some link with the Dark Lord.

"I _need_ your help," he said in a voice drained of energy.

"No, you don't," Ron replied shortly, in a hard voice. "_Malfoy_ can give you all the help you want." He picked up his books and stormed out of the common room before Harry had a chance to reply.

"Harry, don't even think about what he says," Hermione told him. "Just ignore him."

"So will you help us, then?" Harry raised his pleading eyes to meet hers.

"Of course I will. I'll do what I can," she replied in a quiet voice. "But I'm—I'm not sure what there is that we can do."

He sat up straight in his chair. "You know...I don't think we know what really happened."

Hermione looked confused. "But I thought they told you – didn't you say—"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I don't think they told us everything. Let's go get Malfoy, and then we'll see."

"Harry—" she glanced at him with a hesitant look.

"I trust him," he said firmly. "I trust him completely."

Hermione nodded. "Let's go, then."

"Where are we going?" asked Malfoy. Harry and Hermione had found him in the library, and now the three of them trudged silently down the stairs leading to the dungeon. "And why is _she_ with us?"

"We're going to find Snape," Harry replied shortly. "And _Hermione_ has agreed that she'll help us."

"Snape?" He sounded surprised, but recovered after a moment and said in his usual drawl, "Weasley refuses to help, then?"

Harry ignored Malfoy's last comment. "I don't believe that we've been told everything that happened. And who would know what really went on better than Snape?"

"What makes you think he's going to tell _us_ about it?" said Draco.

"You're going to be the one to ask him," Hermione said. "You can go in first, and we'll join you after he's agreed to talk to you."

The blond said nothing in response, and Harry gathered that he was satisfied with this plan.

They eventually reached the Potions dungeon, and knocked on the door to Snape's office. Harry and Hermione stood off to the side as they heard a cold voice say, "Come in."

Draco opened the door, hesitant, and not really moving to enter the room. "Hello, Professor."

"Mr. Malfoy, how can I help you?" Harry heard from inside the room.

"Er, I...well...I was..."

Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione and gave Draco a hard shove in the back. The Slytherin stumbled into the office. Harry imagined that at the moment, Snape was raising his eyebrows at Draco's unusual behavior.

"Yes, well, you see, Professor, I was wondering what _really_ occurred that night at Malfoy Manor," Draco had resumed his cold, demanding personality. "Because I don't believe I know the _exact_ story. And I thought that perhaps _you'd_ be so kind as to enlighten me?"

There was a moment of silence, and Harry wondered what Snape was thinking. Then, he heard from inside the office, "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. Sit down."

That was their cue. As Draco stepped forward to sit in the chair facing Snape's desk, Harry and Hermione casually entered the room. "Accio chairs," Harry called with his wand raised, and two wooden chairs from the class room flew to Draco's side, where he and Hermione then joined the blond.

Snape scowled at them, no doubt irritated by their rudeness. "So, a party of three. Shall I invite the rest of the students in for story time as well?"

"Well, Professor?" Harry said, unperturbed by the professor's glare. "You were saying?"

"Several years ago, I betrayed the Dark Lord, and became a spy for Albus Dumbledore," Snape began rather reluctantly. "This much, I'm sure, you were already aware of. The spell that I used to defeat the Dark Lord was magic that only a willing traitor could perform. It is commonly known as 'The Spell of Treachery' and has been recorded in ancient tomes of Wizard history, but was only attempted once in all the years that humans have existed. The reason: because the one time it was attempted, the wizard using it died before he was able to complete the spell, and it failed. It is a very dangerous spell, and has been proven so by studies, as well as by that one instance of failure. For months, I had been preparing this spell..."

_"Severus, why did you not tell me what you intended to do?" asked Professor Dumbledore in a tired voice._

_"You would have tried to stop me," Snape replied._

_"But the prophecy, Severus. Have you forgotten that? You did not need to spend your time preparing for the 'Spell of Treachery'..."_

_"Forgive me, Headmaster," he said. "I have little to no faith in prophecies, and I feel that even if the prophecy were true, there is too great a risk for us to wait for the outcome, and there is too much of a probability that the Dark Lord will triumph over Potter."_

_"And so you would sacrifice your life, if it came to that?" Dumbledore said._

_"I believe I have a good chance;" Snape said in response. "I am a true traitor to the Dark Lord, and if in this way I succeed in defeating him, I shall be able to repay you for those years that you helped me."_

_"Severus," the headmaster said very gently, "there is no need to repay me for anything. You owe me nothing."_

_"Albus, please." Snape lowered his head._

_Dumbledore sighed and said grimly, "You must do as you will. And if it be your wish, I will help you with the spell."_

_"Thank you, Headmaster."_

_"You understand that there is a large probability of failure?"_

_Snape nodded. "Yes, sir."_

Of course, Snape did not tell Harry, Hermione, and Draco about the conversation that had occurred with the headmaster. He merely said, "I had no conviction—at all—concerning the prophecy, and I believed the 'Spell of Treachery' to be the last possible solution." If it seemed strange to the three students that the professor could speak so indifferently of making such a sacrifice, they did not show it. Harry was quiet, Hermione absorbed all that she heard with rapt fascination, storing it in her mind to be pondered and analyzed later, and Draco sat stiffly in his chair, his cold silver eyes resolute. Snape's gaze often swept over Harry and Hermione, but Harry got the feeling that he was never really _seeing_ them, or he was looking _through _them, rather than _at_ them. Not once did he look at Draco. He continued to talk with the air of someone being forced to confess to a crime, but nonetheless, he spoke willingly.

_"Severus, how can you be so blind?" said McGonagall, shaking her head. It was nearly a fortnight since Snape had confessed his intentions to the headmaster. "The 'Spell of Treachery' will not succeed. You have little better than a three percent chance at defeating the Dark Lord with it. Forget these ridiculous plans. Trust in the prophecy." _

_Snape looked up from his bubbling cauldron for a moment to sneer at her. "You, who have never in your life listened to any divinatory statement, are now telling me to _trust _in the prophecy?"_

_McGonagall ignored this. "Severus, you cannot do this."_

_"All preparations have been made. There is no turning back." Snape returned his attention to his potion, stirring it slowly. Three stirs clockwise, seven stirs counterclockwise._

_"Please, Severus," she continued to argue. "This is suicide!"_

_"It is not _your_ suicide, so I don't see why you're so concerned," he replied in an indifferent and bored voice._

_"You have a ninety-seven percent probability of failing!"_

_"Stop it, Minerva! I am not going to change my mind. All I asked was for you to bring me Dumbledore's scrolls, not for you to plague me like a stone in my shoe. And you might be quite interested to know that there is significantly less than a ninety-seven percent chance of failing. Albus and I have developed a backup plan."_

_"A backup plan? Oh well, that just solves everything, doesn't it! A backup plan does not guarantee that you will succeed!" McGonagall exclaimed, exasperated. "Very well, let me hear it."_

_Snape glared at her for a moment before speaking. "In the case that the spell begins to waver and fail, Albus is to throw to me a thread of magical energy. I will then use this thread as a channel to draw energy from him to stabilize and enhance the spell."_

_"What?" McGonagall exclaimed, her arm accidentally knocking over a glass vial. The vial rolled off the edge of the desk and shattered as it hit the edge of the cauldron, its powdery contents spilling into the potion; a few fragments of glass joined it, tumbling in after the fine brick-colored grains. Snape cursed loudly and shot McGonagall an acid look. She ignored all this and cried, "So now Dumbledore is going with you as well? How can you let this happen? This will be the death of the Wizarding world! With Dumbledore gone, the Dark Lord will not hesitate to attack Hogwarts, and Potter will be in great danger!"_

_"Minerva," he spat angrily, "you've ruined my potion."_

_"This is madness! Have you lost your senses?"_

_Snape's eyes flared as he began to speak in a low voice. "You've ruined the potion that I have been brewing since three nights ago. You've also just wasted a large portion of one of the rarest forms of—"_

_"I don't care about the potion!" she shouted. "In this task, you are endangering more than just your life! You—"_

_"Calm yourself, Minerva." Dumbledore stood in the doorway of Snape's classroom._

_McGonagall turned to him. "Albus! How can you let him do this?"_

_"It is his choice," Dumbledore replied, as if that solved everything._

_"But—"_

_"I would appreciate it, Minerva, if you did not hinder us." The headmaster's voice was gentle but reproachful. "We are to perform the spell tomorrow tonight, and we need all the help that can possibly be given to us."_

_"Albus, surely you—"_

_"The best way that you can be of any aid at the present time," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice, "is to leave this room and speak of these plans to no one."_

_"But—" McGonagall began to argue. She stopped, knowing that it would make no difference. "Yes, Headmaster," she said at last, and left the room with a heavy heart._

"We had intended for our plan to be put into action on the night of September the first. The Dark Lord would not be expecting us then; it was the start of term, and also he had heard a rumor about Hogwarts and believed that Dumbledore was unable to leave the school. In truth, the rumor had been planted by one of our agents in his circle. The timing was very critical; the 'Spell of Treachery' must be timed accurately and correspond to the phases of the moon."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Surely you have studied this in at least one of your classes," Snape said, sneering.

"When a spell is that large and powerful, it affects everything around it, and everything affects _it_," Hermione explained. Harry had no doubt she was paraphrasing from her textbooks. "That means that the position of the moon will determine how well the spell works, because at different phases, the moon can sometimes draw power away. Occasionally, the spell is so humongous that the position of the entire solar system needs to be taken into consideration."

"Yes, thank you, Miss Granger," Snape said with a distasteful glance at her. He continued. "So Dumbledore studied the phases, and determined that the best nights to perform the spell would be the twenty-seventh of August and the first of September. August the twenty-seventh was too close for us to make our final preparations, and September the first was perfect. Two weeks before the marked date, the headmaster and I left Hogwarts. We told everyone we had gone to Norway with a secret task, and that no one was to owl us because if the owls were intercepted, our location could be given away. In truth, we had gone to a small abandoned Muggle cottage near where we guessed the Dark Lord was hiding. We also did not want any owls because the cottage was thought to be abandoned, and owls flying to and from would give us away. We had prepared other forms of communication.

"However, our plan went awry when we received a message from a strange-looking bird the night before. Dumbledore was furious when he saw the bird. He thought it was from Hogwarts."

_"I told them to send no owls!" Dumbledore said, his eyes flaring. The large bird swooped in as the headmaster quickly opened the window. It was neither owl nor raven, and yet it was similar to both creatures. Snape guessed that it was crossbred. It dropped a scroll tied with silver ribbon and left._

_"What does it say?" Snape asked him._

_Dumbledore slipped the ribbon off the end of the scroll and unfurled it. Immediately, the parchment burst into angry crimson flames. From the fire, sparks flew into the air, forming new flames and slowly tracing letters above their heads._

_"Good evening, Dumbledore," the fire spelled out. "It might be of some interest to you to know that at this very moment, Harry Potter is standing in front of me and my Death Eaters. I'm sure you are already aware of our present location. Harry Potter is waiting for you."_

_The fire formed the letters slowly, and at the very end, the remaining flames arranged themselves into the shape of the Dark Mark, Voldemort's signature._

_"It's a trap," Snape immediately said._

_"Indeed it is," Dumbledore said grimly, waving his wand and causing the fire-letters to disappear. "But I fear we have no choice. Voldemort knows I would not fall for such a charade; his tricks are never cheap. Alas, I believe that he really _does_ have Harry."_

_"But how is that possible? Potter is at Grimmauld Place—"_

_"_Was_," Dumbledore corrected him. "He _was_ at Grimmauld Place. However, you are right—we cannot be sure. I shall take the portkey and hope against hope that Harry is safely sleeping in his bed. Finish the last of the preparations quickly—you know what to do. Make haste, and meet me just inside the entrance to their lair in half an hour. I shall not be late. Do not tarry here any longer than you must. I fear he has spies."_

_Snape nodded. "And what of the plan?"_

_"I think..." Dumbledore hesitated before saying, "We should go through with it tonight. Yes."_

_"But the moon—"_

_"The date is close enough," Dumbledore said. "We shall have to do our best and hope that luck is on our side." He opened the cabinet where the portkey, an old and worn leather shoe, was stored. He nodded to Snape in farewell, and picked up the shoe, disappearing._

_Snape quickly collected the things he would need and put on his coat. He grabbed Dumbledore's handdrawn map and put out all the candles with a wave of his wand. Just as he thrust open the door, a circle of green fire sprang up around the cottage. He cursed and let the scorching door go. It swung back into the frame of the doorway and the emerald flames licked at the wood._

_He pulled out his wand to conjure a self-refilling basin of water. It didn't work. He realized that the fire must be spell-resistant. Fire was Voldemort's specialty, as he recalled quite clearly. Any magic performed while inside the circle of the flames would not work. Snape took a few deep breaths, trying not to panic. If he was correct about this fire, it would spread fast but consume slowly, to ensure the pain of torture._

_A potion. That's what he needed. He stared at the burning door, thinking hard. There was always a kit of valuable concoctions that he brought with him when he traveled – who knew what chances might cause one to need them? What potion could he use? Probably only his most potent form of Corpodifuoco. It was a potion invented by an Italian witch that allowed the person who drank it to be resistant to certain fires. He'd used two different versions of that very potion for his obstacle years ago when Dumbledore had been hiding the Sorcerer's Stone at Hogwarts. He wasn't sure it would work with such flames like the enchanted fire at hand, but it was his only chance._

_The wooden door crumbled (it had been much more resistant than Snape expected) and the rich green flames tumbled into the cottage, crackling with glee as it began to spread upon the earthen floor. He was running out of time. Damnit, there were no matches. And he couldn't use magic...so he had no source of light. The fire provided only a dim and eery glow – in fact, in broad daylight, it would be hard to see the fire was even there. He had just enough light to prevent himself from crashing into the walls._

_How on earth was he supposed to find the potion? Snape couldn't remember where he'd left the kit of brews; he knew he didn't bring it with him tonight—he wasn't carrying any potions at all...taking all those vials would be such a nuisance. Maybe it was under his bed—he certainly couldn't recall seeing any of his bottles anywhere before he put out the candles. He hurried into the only other room the cottage had, kneeling down and stretching his arm out, feeling along the ground, hoping against hope that his hand would touch something. He inched his arm further under the wooden bed, and was about to give up when his thumb hit something cold and hard. He heard the sound of a something rolling, and then it stopped._

_His heart beating quickly, he got up on his knees and squinted. There! The edge of a cylindrical shape was gleaming in the darkness. Snape snatched it up, pulling out the stopper and wafting with his hand to catch the scent of the vial's contents. It smelled metallic and sour, with a hint of forest herbs. Yes! It was the potion he was looking for! Without hesitation, he downed the liquid, feeling the ice cold sensation as it spread quickly throughout his veins._

_He didn't have much time, the potion would wear off fast. The other room was already filled with fire, and the flames were crawling toward him slowly. He looked around the room, his arm tightly clutching his belongings. The window—his only exit. Snape grabbed a brass candle holder and plunged it through the window as hard as he could. The glass shattered, and he broke off a few extra pieces along the edges. The fire was just outside and below, and he shuddered as the cold sensation was renewed when he slipped through the window and stepped into the flames. Quickly he sprinted into the surrounding forest before he could be seen by any spies of the Dark Lord._

_He watched from behind a cluster of trees as the cottage was swallowed in green flames. Then, from a thicket on the other side of the cottage, six black-robed men strode out cautiously._

_"Let's go," Snape very clearly heard one of them say. "If he hasn't escaped by now, then he won't be able to. There's no point in staying here and waiting for the whole thing to turn to ashes. It'll take hours." The others murmured in agreement and the six turned to leave, the last one casting the Dark Mark into the air above the cottage._

_Snape closed the door slowly behind him. The door led to a dark tunnel, and by the light of his wand, he could see fresh footprints on the ground. He checked the back of the door for any sign. Sure enough, there was a small "D" rune scratched into the upper right corner of the door. Dumbledore's mark. Snape knew he was at least twenty minutes late for the appointed meeting time. Dumbledore must have gone in ahead. A chill of fear snaked down his back. He was afraid that the headmaster might have fallen to danger, and decided that the best choice was to go on and use the element of surprise – the Dark Lord would not be expecting him after his Death Eaters had reported burning the cottage._

_Carefully, Snape began to make his way down the dark tunnel, his wand lit and held out before him. Several other tunnels joined this one as it wound its way left and right through the darkness._

"Here is where I joined you," Snape continued in almost a monotone voice. "When I reached the end of the tunnel, the door opened to a completely empty room. There I realized that the Dark Lord must have used one of his oldest and favorite tricks – a form of apparating he created himself using Dark Magic. It can transport a room full of people all at once, after they are all within the defined boundaries, and it allows more unusual things to occur – such as how the Cage was moved _with_ you to Malfoy Manor. I had no doubt that he had taken you to Malfoy Manor, and so I quickly apparated there and entered from an old back entrance that I used when I was a Death Eater.

"As I entered from behind, breaking open the door, I saw that Dumbledore was in the Cage and you were sitting in a chair that magically connected you to the Dark Lord. I had not expected him to use the Cage, because I had not realized he could draw from someone else's energy for it. The Death Eaters immediately try to take hold of me, but I held most of them off with a few hexes and tried to get your attention. Just as many of the Death Eaters were recovering, you lost consciousness," he said, looking at Harry.

"I pulled you out of the chair and shielded you at once so that the Dark Lord was no longer connected to you. As I cut off the string that united you, he was momentarily shocked. I threw another round of hexes about the room, putting out more Death Eaters, and then quickly I released Dumbledore from the Cage, using the reversal spell that I had been taught in the earlier Dark Years. Dumbledore immediately recovered a little, and we proceeded with the 'Spell of Treachery' just as the Dark Lord regained his senses. The details of the spell do not concern us at the moment, but as you might have guessed, the spell began to fail within mere minutes. The Dark Lord had terrible power that I could not match, and the spell began to waver, dwindling slowly, and taking my energy as it did so. Now was the time to use our backup plan; I had nearly forgotten it."

_"Severus!" Dumbledore called, getting Snape's attention. He knew what the headmaster was about to do. Both of them sank into a sharp internal focus – a form of mind-magic, and Dumbledore 'threw' him a line of magical energy that he gratefully received._

_Snape breathed deeply as energy began to flow down the line, refreshing him and allowing him to stabilize the spell. From his wand, a pale light began to glow, growing larger and brighter until at last it began to move to surround Voldemort, who still held his wand out, trying to defeat the spell. Snape was using the last of his own energy, and he felt the spell dip just a tiny bit as exhaustion began to overtake him, but Dumbledore quickly sent more nourishing energy his way through the open channel they had formed. The spell was strengthening, and Snape tasted the joy of nearing his victory. But it did not last long, for the Dark Lord realized what was happening, and knew very clearly that it could be the moment of his destruction._

_Voldemort threw a flaming sphere at Snape, similar to those that he had sent at Dumbledore through the bars of the Cage, in the hopes that he would distract the potions master and cause the spell to fail._

_However, because Snape was now only acting as a conduit for the energy and power from Dumbledore to pass through to build the spell, he was unable to condense his own remaining energy to block the fireball. Instead, he involuntarily absorbed the magical fire and it was sent down the energy link into Dumbledore. In his dismay, Snape broke the spell, realizing the disastrous effects of what had happened._

_Because the sphere of fire had been sent by Voldemort, it contained the Dark Lord's magic, and was still connected to him. When the fireball was absorbed into the channel between Snape and Dumbledore, it drew power from Voldemort and plunged itself completely into the headmaster's body—fire, magical energy, and all._

_It was this, and not the 'Spell of Treachery' which caused the destruction of the Dark Lord. But before Snape could even realize that they had left Voldemort so magically wounded that he was sure to die, he quickly dragged both the bodies of Dumbledore and Harry to the very southwestern corner of the foyer – it was the only location in the entire manor that allowed Wizards to apparate. Snape brought all three of them to Gorthwitse, the secret location of the Order that was nearest to Hogwarts, and from there he called for help. Harry and Dumbledore were taken to Hogwarts as quickly as possible, and from there, Healers from St. Mungo's were summoned to come to their aid._

_Snape was still forced to stay in the infirmary for a few days, although he was relatively unharmed. The Healers were amazed at how little he had suffered from the ordeal at Malfoy Manor, but he knew that it was because he had only been an open channel that connected to Dumbledore. Dumbledore could not have performed the spell himself, for he was not the traitor, but when Snape began to fail and the headmaster connected to him with the thread of energy, he became almost a useless puppet. The ball of fire had only flown through him; it had done nothing more than use him as a passage of transportation. Snape did suffer from a slightly sprained wrist (from smashing against the door), and reverberations of the experience of the magical current sweeping through his body, but those were only very minor injuries. His body had almost been...an insulator; and his magic had held the link that allowed Dumbledore's power and Voldemort's power to pass through interchangeably._

"There is a valid reason _why_ the headmaster is now suffering from what could be fatal aftereffects: when the sphere of enchanted fire was sent through our link, he engulfed it. The burning sphere was still connected to the Dark Lord by a string of magical energy. Dumbledore was not expecting it, and when he involuntarily absorbed it into himself, he pulled the rest of the Dark Lord's powers into himself as well. He tried to stop the current of energy that was flowing through me and into him, but he had no control over it because of our magical link."

"Do the Healers know about this?" asked Hermione, her voice trembling only enough for Harry to notice.

"Yes," Snape replied very calmly. "The Healers from St. Mungo's were unable to purge the headmaster's body of this magic with any safe spell, potion, or charm. There is one spell that might be used – but its effects might cause more than just the foreign magic to be purged, and can cause a wizard to lose both his own magic and sanity. The Healers also spoke of other options, but all were more dangerous than the next. There is too much at risk; nothing more can be done."

"If you don't try anything, then isn't it just as pointless as sitting by and watching him die?" Harry asked tensely.

"If the Healers _do_ try one of their spells, the effects could be worse than just causing a death, or causing the headmaster to lose his sanity," Snape responded, with a look to challenge Harry's. "The magic inside Dumbledore is foreign, evil magic. It's fighting against his own energy, and eating him up from the inside. He is dying because of this consumption, and also because the torture that was inflicted on him had already begun to devour his mind, magic, and body when he resisted it."

There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation before Hermione asked, "Do you know any more about the fire that was set on the cottage?"

The professor nodded. "The Ministry questioned the Death Eaters that set the house on fire. When we received the fire-spelled message, the fire was charmed to notify the Dark Lord of how many people had read the message. Therefore, he knew that someone had accompanied Dumbledore, and to prevent that person from escaping, he sent his Death Eaters to set a charm that would trigger his fire when the door to the cottage opened. The Dark Lord guessed that the headmaster would use a portkey or a similar form of transportation to check if you," he nodded at Harry, "were at Grimmauld Place, and thought Dumbledore probably wouldn't leave via the door. He guessed right.

"Now," Snape said with a final tone and standing up, "I think I have wasted quite enough of my time with you today. I'll see you in class."

"Goodbye, Professor Snape," Hermione said, and Harry could be sure that it was the first time he had heard her say those words without any hint of negative feeling. He supposed she must've appreciated that he told the "truth." But who knew if it really was the truth, anyway?

Harry held back, waiting for Hermione and Draco to leave the room first. Then, as he reached the door, he turned around. "Why did you tell us? How do we know we can trust what you've said?"

"There is no reason for me to justify or prove my actions to you, Potter," Snape said with his usual foul look. "Be content enough with what I have told you."

"_Fiducia_," Draco said as Harry rejoined them. "Trust."

"What?" Hermione said, apparently lost.

"Nothing," Harry replied, sharing a knowing look with Draco. How odd, he contemplated. He could almost call Malfoy...a...friend.


	5. And So It Begins

**Title:** The Essential Ingredient  
**Author name:** Airiviel  
**Category:** Slash, Romance  
**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, Dumbledore  
**Pairings:** Draco/Harry  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers**: All five books  
**Summary:** When Voldemort is defeated, his powers linger within Dumbledore's tortured body. The Healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are unable to purge his mind and body of this evil magic, and as a result, it is slowly killing the famous headmaster. Harry, assisted by a reformed Draco, is determined to find a way to counter Voldemort's powers and save Dumbledore's life. But in assigning themselves this task, Harry and Draco find much more than they expect.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations shall be made where necessary.

**Chapter 5: And So It Begins**

"_Fiducia_," Harry whispered to himself. He liked the sound of the word, the way the vowels and consonants rolled off his tongue with that specific ring. He guessed it was an Italian word. Harry was sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs close to the fire in the Gryffindor common room. It was past midnight, but he wasn't the least bit tired. He gazed into the bright flames, allowing his eyes to blur as he recalled what he had learned today. Why had Snape spoken to them so willingly? It seemed rather suspicious. Too suspicious. And yet...a part of Harry had believed him. And the story did make sense. Snape couldn't have made it up... _Fiducia_, Malfoy had said. _Trust_. Malfoy believed Snape.

Harry sighed aloud. There _had_ to be a way to save Dumbledore. There _had_ to be _something_ they could do to help. He couldn't understand—_refused_ to understand—how the professors could just...give up. Eventually, he fell asleep, still in the armchair, a frown of anguish upon his face.

He awoke the next morning to see Hermione standing in front of him. "Good morning," she said.

Harry yawned a "good morning" back at her and then stood up and stretched. His neck and shoulders ached from sleeping in the armchair in a hunched position. He was about to ask where Ron was when he remembered with a slight pang that Ron wasn't speaking to him.

"Let's get some breakfast," she suggested, "and then we'll go and find Malfoy."

He mumbled his agreement, still half-asleep, and followed Hermione out the door, down the flights of stairs, and into the Great Hall. Ron was already breaking his fast, Harry saw, and today he sat between Ginny and Seamus, rather than leaving the seats next to him open for Harry and Hermione as he usually did. Harry inhaled and exhaled deeply to suppress the renewed anger he had towards Ron.

It was probably the dullest meal that Harry had ever experienced at Hogwarts. He and Hermione ate together in silence, as did most of the Gryffindor table, their hearts weighted down by the gloom and dread caused by recent events. The students had all heard by now that Dumbledore had experienced a magical seizure, and that even all the professors had begun to despair. The food was rather tasteless in Harry's mouth, and his parched throat would not cooperate; it was difficult to swallow even the pumpkin juice. Relief washed over him when he finished eating and could hurry out of the Great Hall.

Most of the students had gone to Hogsmeade to find distractions from the dreary atmosphere. Harry and Hermione decided to go to the library and see if they could find anything useful somewhere in the heavy tomes that sat on the shelves, many covered with thick layers of dust. To their surprise, Draco was already there waiting for them.

"I guessed you'd come here," he said in response to their raised eyebrows.

"I thought you would go to Hogsmeade," Hermione said.

Draco let out a dry laugh. "I don't think I really have permission to go anymore, seeing as my father disowned me."

Harry could think of nothing to say in reply to this, and wanting to avoid the awkwardness of the silence, he turned to face one of the shelves, pretending to scan the titles.

"We should take advantage of this chance to use the library without being bothered by other students." Hermione set her bookbag down on a table and joined Harry in front of the bookshelf. Immediately she began to pull thick and dusty volumes from their places, and soon a fairly large pile of references was stacked on the table next to her bookbag.

"How do you know what books to look in?" Harry asked her. "We don't even know where to start, or what we should be searching for."

"The first thing we can do," Hermione replied impatiently, "is find information about the Spell of Treachery, and see what unusual Dark Magic effects have occurred in the past, and how they were countered."

"No matter how many 'unusual Dark Magic effects' you research, it's going to be a waste of your time," said Malfoy. "Nothing like this has ever happened before."

Hermione looked up to glare at him, her hand paused in the middle of turning a page. "So. What would you suggest we do? Or are you just going to sit there and tell me that every action I take is useless?"

"What we should be doing," Draco answered in a cool voice, "is forming theories. Searching for information before we even know what we need is stupid."

"And forming theories before we have enough information to know what kind of theories we need is even _more_ stupid," Hermione retorted viciously.

"Why don't we do both at the same time," Harry quickly suggested before the tension in the air could cause an explosion. He didn't like this arguing. He could feel the emotions of both and his skin prickled with every remark made. Harry sank into a chair. "We'll develop theories while we're searching for information, and change our theories every time we learn something new."

"Fine," Hermione agreed, shooting an icy expression at Malfoy and seating herself next to Harry.

Draco took a seat across from Hermione, his sole gesture of acquiescence.

Several uncomfortable moments passed, and no one spoke.

Clearing his throat, Draco finally said, "What makes sense is to figure out is what might oppose the powers killing Dumbledore."

Harry nodded.

Hermione glared at Harry, and he quickly stopped nodding.

"Well," she said icily, "Voldemort dealt with Dark Magic. The opposite, then, would be Light Magic."

"But Light Magic is an ancient term that no longer exists the way it did hundreds of years ago," Draco pointed out, almost with the air of quoting a textbook. "It would take us ages to define Light Magic, let alone procure a form of such power that is strong enough to help Dumbledore."

Hermione glared at him. Harry was slightly amused by their similarities that he had failed to notice before. He tried to ignore the prickling sensation that felt a bit like it was burning his skin.

"Maybe it would take _you_ ages to figure all that out, Malfoy," she spat, "but unlike you, others are more efficient and intellectual."

"Are we supposed to be challenging each other or working together?" Malfoy said evenly. He almost looked as if he was enjoying himself.

Hermione fumed.

"Define Voldemort," Harry suddenly said, standing up. An idea was forming in his head.

"What?" Draco said.

"We need to figure out what the opposite of Voldemort is, right?" Harry's voice became excited, as it always did when he had a revelation. If revelation this could be called. "His powers were a part of him. So if part of Voldemort is trapped inside Dumbledore's body and is destroying him from the inside out, then we need to figure out what the reverse of _Voldemort_ might be."

"...Tromedlov?" said Draco. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Thus began their search for Voldemort's opposite.

"You have been studying Defense Against the Dark Arts for several years, now, and yet you have not learned much about Dark Magic itself," said Lupin during a lesson one evening. "This is what we shall be covering for the next week or so."

"Dark Magic, as you well know, is basically magic created and used for evil purposes. It is a term very loosely defined, nowadays. Evil largely comes from ambition and selfishness—"

"And hate," Harry added, interrupting.

Lupin paused. "What was that, Harry?"

"Evil comes from hate, too," Harry said. "It's the most important factor of evil, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, it is," Lupin acknowledged. "But this is a more general definition; there are also those who are evil without truly hating anything."

"But then they aren't really evil, are they?" Harry insisted. "I think being evil means you can put enough hatred into performing Dark Magic and torturing innocent people. Someone who doesn't truly hate can't draw that emotion."

Lupin studied him for a moment and finally said, "That's very interesting, Harry."

He nodded. "I agree."

Malfoy yawned, slumped in his chair and looking completely bored.

Lupin closed the textbook thoughtfully. "Your definition, Harry, actually makes more sense than the book's definition when you compare it to the definition of Light Magic. Light Magic is based on many things, like trust and loyalty. But most importantly, it is almost always based on some form of love."

"Excuse me, Professor," Draco interjected. "Isn't Light Magic supposed to be a very abstract thing? I read in a textbook that it's not really something you can define by today's magic."

"It _is_ very abstract," Lupin replied. "But that is also what makes it so powerful. Sometimes you can't define the most powerful and most important things. For instance, would you be able to give a solid definition of love?"

The blond looked up and answered stiffly, "I don't believe in love."

Harry found that he couldn't fall asleep that night. While a few weeks ago, he would've given anything to never have to sleep again so that he could avoid the awful dreams that came, the dreams had now stopped, and he found that he was so exhausted that he wanted nothing more than a good rest. The way his lessons had been arranged, his classes with his professors were so much more intense than in the usual classroom setting that he was working much harder than he ever had before. After a night of more potions and crushed beetles than he ever wanted to deal with ever again in his life, all he wanted was to close his eyes and just stop thinking.  
Sleep was not coming, and he sighed in frustration. His thoughts turned elsewhere and the word "fiducia" rang in his mind. "Trust," Draco had said. And in the jumble of all his thoughts, ideas mixed together and suddenly he was thinking of Lupin's lesson. Light Magic. Love. Trust. _Fiducia_. Love and trust went together…it just made sense. How could Draco speak of one, but refuse to believe in the other?

Harry suddenly felt rather sad that anyone could refuse to believe in love. It was love that had saved his life on so many occasions…and perhaps was continuing to.

If Draco didn't believe in love… Well. He must have a good reason. Surely some kind of instinctive love had to exist between him and his mother or his father. There had to be _some_ sort of love within him. Or maybe he _did_ love, at some point in time, and then something happened… Harry dreaded to think what could be so severe as to break all feelings of love within the blond. Perhaps it was being disowned. Well…even so, Draco had to have realized that he would've been disowned for his actions. He must've stopped loving his father long before that.

Deep in such thoughts, Harry didn't pause to consider that he was spending so much time musing about Draco. Gradually, after a few hours and after his mind had exhausted every idea it could find, he began to drift off to sleep.

"Professor Lupin," Harry asked in a lesson later in the week, "can Light Magic defeat Dark Magic?"

"That is a very good question, Harry."

Harry glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye to see if the Slytherin had caught onto his thoughts. Draco appeared supremely unconcerned with the lesson and as usual, sat back in his chair, a quill twirling gracefully between his fingers.

"Many believe that Light Magic is greater than Dark Magic," Lupin began. "However, this has never been proven to be true. Light and Dark – they are equally powerful. When harnessed in specific ways, then certainly one may be more powerful than the other, but in general they counter each other with the same strength.

Harry nodded. "So there _are_ instances of Dark Magic being defeated by Light Magic?"

Lupin closed the large tome in front of him. "Yes, but nearly all of those instances occurred hundreds—if not thousands—of years ago. As we mentioned the other day, Light Magic is not exactly used anymore the way it once was."

"Why doesn't anyone try to use Light Magic anymore?" said Harry. "It could've been useful in defeating Voldemort."

"There were attempts." Lupin shut the door with a wave of his wand and cleared his throat. "The Order made an attempt," he then told them in a low voice.

"It didn't work?" Harry asked. Draco's quill had fallen to the ground, but Harry didn't notice. Neither did Draco.

"The attempt was never completed," the professor explained. "The Light Magic that we were planning on using needed one more year of preparation, but you defeated Voldemort before we even needed to finish it."

"But I didn't defeat him," said Harry blankly.

Lupin gave a small smile. "You've forgotten the prophecy, Harry."

"But I didn't," Harry repeated. "It wasn't me. It was Snape."

"Perhaps," Lupin told him while fumbling through a sheaf of parchments, "it may look as though Professor Snape was the one to defeat Voldemort, but you played the key part."

"What do you mean?"

"You allowed yourself to be lured to him," Lupin explained. "The first important thing to note is that if you had not done this, Voldemort would have triumphed."

Harry looked confused. "But—how?"

"The Ministry used veritaserum on—ah—certain Death Eaters" — and Lupin glanced surreptitiously at Draco as he said this — "and learned that Voldemort had already found a dark spell that would allow him to kill you directly from within your mind. He reserved this approach as a backup plan if everything else failed. He was too ambitious, and wanted to kill both of you at once. He was quite positive the Cage would do exactly that."

Harry nodded in comprehension. "So if I hadn't gone to him then…I would've died later?"

"Yes. The second important thing to note," Lupin continued, "is that by letting him succeed to that extent in his plans with the Cage, you caused him to become overconfident. As a result, he didn't think about the fact that throwing his energy at Professor Snape and the headmaster was a bad idea. If he had given it even ten seconds' worth of thought, he would've realized that allowing his magic to be consumed by a channel between two powerful wizards was the quickest way to defeat himself.

"So you see, Harry, the prophecy was true. However indirect it was, you _did_ defeat him."

Harry stared down at his desk. "But Snape was the one who did everything, who—"

"The prophecy did not say that you had to defeat Voldemort alone, or that he had to defeat you alone. And remember that if you had not made your choices, Professor Snape would not have been able to defeat him either."

"Hermione, did Lupin give you the same lesson on Dark Magic and Light Magic?" Harry asked as soon as he saw her the next morning.

"He talked a bit about Dark and Light Magic, but we didn't go too far into it," she answered. "Why?"

"I think I have an idea of what we're looking for," Harry said. "Meet me in the library after breakfast." Without finishing his food, he hurried to pass the message on to Draco.

The three met in the library at the table where they had conversed a few days ago. They barely had time to sit down before Harry began excitedly explaining his idea.

"Everything Voldemort did, every action he took, had something to do with the Dark Arts."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is this supposed to be news to us?"

"He practically represented Dark Magic himself!" Harry said, ignoring Draco's remark.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Harry, I know what you're—"

"It's sort of like you said the other day, Hermione. Light Magic is the opposite of Dark Magic!" he interrupted before she could finish.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, "I don't think we can use Light Magic. I looked up a few things, and Malfoy was right, it would—"

"We can use _love_!" he exclaimed. "Love is the opposite of Voldemort. Voldemort killed everything he hated and took pleasure in _hating_."

Draco snorted. "And how, exactly, do you expect us to use 'love' to help Dumbledore? We aren't fighting Voldemort, we're fighting what's left of his powers."

"And love spells are illegal," Hermione added.

Harry momentarily paused, taken by surprise at Draco's use of Voldemort's name. He swiftly recovered and struggled to disregard the exaggerated feeling of anger that was building inside him.

"Well, I thought we could try a _potion_," he said simply.

Both Draco and Hermione stared at him.

"Potter, have you gone daft?"

"Er, Harry…"  
"Love potions are illegal, too," Draco said with a yawn. "And there's a reason for that."

"Would you two just _listen_ for a moment?" said Harry, thoroughly irritated.

Draco continued nonchalantly. "—And besides, how on earth would it help to have Dumbledore fall in love with Voldemort?"

"I SAID, SHUT _UP_," Harry shouted. Hermione jumped a little in her seat and glanced around to see where the librarian was.

"It would be a potion," he began as calmly as he could manage, "that had elements of love in it, and didn't force its consumer to _fall _in love."

Draco and Hermione were staring at him again.

"It would just _emphasize_ love," he added to clarify.

Hermione opened her mouth thoughtfully and then closed it again.

"And where on earth," Draco demanded, "do you expect us to find this potion? You can't just imagine it in your mind and then pull it out of thin air."

Harry did his best to ignore Draco's latter statement, and replied, "We'll have to make it ourselves."

"As brilliant and simple as that sounds, Potter, I don't think that's going to work."

"And do _you_ have a _better_ idea?" snapped Hermione.

"I didn't say I did," Draco responded coolly. "I only said I didn't think it would work."

"So you'll go along with it?" Harry asked impatiently.

Hermione nodded.

"Yes," Draco said lazily. "Yes, I'll go along with it."

They spent nearly every free moment of the next week in the library. Hermione had found in a book about magical physical reactions that a magical seizure was a symptom that almost always happened very late in cases of magical harm, which told them that if they didn't do something soon, it might be too late to help Dumbledore.

Harry rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he flipped through a book on the basic theory of Light Magic. It had been Hermione's idea to begin by finding out how love had been used in various forms of Light Magic.

The library was slightly too warm, and he tugged absentmindedly at his tie. He'd been up rather late the night before, working on a long report for Potions. Now, he found himself yawning and feeling incredibly lazy. He flipped the pages with the pretense of skimming them, but his eyes saw only blurs. His eyelids felt heavy, and he couldn't help closing his eyes…just for a moment. With his eyes closed, he noticed the sound of Hermione's rhythmic scrawling of notes, and how Draco's page-flipping even _sounded_ elegant. All the noise began to fade to a distant buzz…

_"You need to kill me, Harry," said Dumbledore. He lay on the bed in the infirmary, looking quite helpless._

_Harry looked aghast. "But Professor—"_

_"Lord Voldemort is inside me. He may be dead in body, but his mind and powers have attached themselves to me. In time, I will become Lord Voldemort."_

_Harry protested. "There has to be some way to…I don't know. There must be something we can do!"_

_Dumbledore shook his head. "The only way is death. You must kill me. It must be by _your_ hand." He raised his left arm, and from within his sleeve he pulled out a small dagger. It was quite plain, with only a small engraving of runes on its hilt. The sharpened metal glinted._

_The silvery light of the dagger caught Harry's eye. He felt some strange temptation bubbling within, and moved his hand to take the dagger, but stopped himself._

_"It is the right thing to do, Harry," the headmaster told him solemnly. "You must do this."_

_"No." Harry shook his head. "I can't."_

_"The first thing aurors-in-training learn," said Dumbledore, raising his voice, "is that they cannot allow emotion to get in the way of what must be done."_

_Harry took a step backwards, and Dumbledore's eyes grew dark._

_"Do not make me angry, Harry," he said in a very quiet voice. "Do not disappoint me at the crucial moment."_

_"Professor, I can't." Harry took another step backwards._

_Dumbledore gazed at him with angry eyes, and then suddenly, firmly gripping the hilt of the dagger, he plunged it into the back of Harry's right hand._

_Harry cried out instinctively, and then stared at the blood that poured from the wound. It didn't hurt. The dagger had penetrated straight through to the other side, and yet all he felt was cold metal in his skin…but no pain. The blood felt warm as it spread over his hand. His eyes met Dumbledore's, and suddenly a sharp, lancing pain broke out where his scar was._

_"You have failed," said Dumbledore, but the voice was not his._

_The intense pain increased, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his left hand clutching his forehead. His right hand, with the dagger still through the middle of it, seemed frozen. He heard someone screaming—a scream so filled with pain and dread that it sounded like the person making the noise was surely being tortured to death—and then he realized after a few moments that it was himself. He was the one screaming._

Draco sighed. The past three volumes he'd looked through had yielded no new information. He closed the book and stretched his arms. Harry, he observed, had fallen asleep with palm holding his head and his glasses askew on his face. Harry's eyebrows knit together and his lips were curled in a frown.

"Well, Mr. We've-Got-To-Do-Something-Even-If-It's-Most-Likely-Useless seems to have fallen asleep," Draco said with a sneer.

Hermione paused in her scribbling (she now had about forty inches of notes) and looked up. She sighed, her annoyance apparent.

"Harry," she began. "You—"

He murmured something quietly and she cut off, looking at him carefully.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Are you going to wake—"

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed.

The blond raised an eyebrow and fell silent.

"He's dreaming again," she whispered.

"Dumbledore," Harry murmured softly. "…No…you mustn't…I can't!" His words were growing louder.

Hermione watched him intently. She guessed that his dream would become significantly noisier in a few moments. "_Mutus Obsidio_!" she whispered, and a very faint glow of light expanded into a dome that surrounding the three of them. The light faded quickly, but the barrier was in place. Nobody outside the magical dome could hear any sound they made.

"…kill…I—no…Voldemort?"

Suddenly, Harry sat straight up in his seat, simultaneously knocking over several books. His eyes were still closed, but he sat as stiff as wood.

"Harry?" said Hermione softly.

Without warning, he let out a blood-curling cry—a scream that sounded so awful and so loud that Hermione cringed in her seat, covering her ears and shutting her eyes tightly. It was such a horrifying clamor that she herself gasped for air when it ended. Draco appeared to be equally disturbed, and neither spoke for several moments after Harry fell silent.

"Should we wake him up now?" said Draco at last.

"Oh, yes, well, I suppose we should," she replied. "_Finite Incantatem_," she murmured, and then gently shook Harry's shoulder. He had slumped over the desk when the screaming ended. Now, he jumped a little and blinked several times.

"Sorry," he muttered, and bent to pick up the books on the floor.

"You had a dream," Hermione said.

Harry looked up in surprise.

"We heard you screaming," supplied Draco.

"Harry," Hermione said, looking concerned. "What did you dream about?"

"Er, I don't remember it," he answered, not meeting her eyes.

"Liar," Draco said, sneering. He had picked up Hermione's quill and was twirling it between his fingers. It was quite a habit by now.

"Harry, let's go," Hermione said, pushing her chair back and standing up.

"Go where?" he asked suspiciously.

"We're going to see Madam Pomfrey," she replied firmly. And before he could protest, she had marched to his side of the table, grabbed him by his robe, and was dragging him out of the library.

Draco watched them leave, Harry arguing that he was fine, and Hermione merely glaring at him in reply. Draco took another reference volumde off the pile next to him and began thumbing through the index.

"Look here, it's Malfoy!" said an obnoxious voice from behind him.

He set his book down on the table and turned around in a nonchalant and unhurried manner. "Fancy seeing you in the library, Blakrith," Draco said coldly.

Mavros Blakrith was followed by a small group of Slytherins that included Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint's younger brother, Maddox. Blakrith had talked Crabbe and Goyle over to his side as soon as he'd heard tell of Draco's betrayal against Voldemort.

Blakrith sneered at him. "And what are _you_ doing here? Having a nice little study session with your Gryffindor friends?"

"I'm doing something that your excessively small brain hasn't learned to comprehend yet," Draco retorted. "It's called research."

"I wouldn't be so quick to call others stupid if _I_ were hanging around with the likes of Potter and that stupid mudblood," said Flint.

"It's my business who I talk to," Draco responded, unperturbed.

"You're going to get yourself in trouble one of these days, Malfoy," growled Crabbe.

"Crabbe," said Draco in mock astonishment, "you've learned to speak in public. I'm surprised."

"Now what's going on here?" The librarian, seeing the group of Slytherins congregated around Draco, had grown suspicious and now stood before them. "You're making a lot of noise," she said with a glare.

Blakrith threw her a rebellious look and then said, "Come on. Let's go."

Madam Pince watched the group leave the library, and then continued her dusting of the books.

Draco drew a few breaths of air to suppress his need to hit something, and then went back to flipping through his book.

"How long has it been since I put the hypersensitivity spell on you?" asked Madam Pomfrey, flipping through a calendar.

"A little over a month, I think," Harry replied through gritted teeth. He sent another glare towards Hermione, who accepted it with one of her it's-for-your-own-good looks.

"Ah, yes, I see," said the nurse, nodding. "A month and four days. And when was the last time you had a dream like today?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe two weeks ago."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "I see."

"So can I leave now?" said Harry impatiently. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"In a few moments, yes." Madam Pomfrey had turned her back on them and was bustling around the infirmary again. "First, I'm putting the spell on you again."

Harry groaned.

"None of that, now," she snapped. "The fact that you had such a dream today should caution you that it is still possible that the Dark Lord's magic is inside you."

She held up a vial of the same purple fizzing liquid that she'd made him drink a month ago. "Here. Drink up."

Glowering at Hermione, he took the potion from the nurse. He swallowed it in one gulp, the familiar and bland taste of very diluted cranberry juice filling his mouth.

She tapped her wand on his head and murmured something, and his heightened sensations returned immediately. This time, Madam Pomfrey smelled like both a Muggle cough drop and lilacs.

"It's all your fault," Harry said furiously as they left the infirmary. "Now I've got to deal with another month of stupid smells and messed up feelings, and it's completely pointless."

"It is _not_ completely pointless," Hermione shot back. "She's right. That dream means that you might have Voldemort's magic inside you. It's possible that it's just remained dormant this whole time."

"It's my body and my head," Harry snapped. "I think I'd know better than any of you if something evil was brewing inside me!"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply just as they turned a corner. But she didn't get a chance to say whatever she was going to say because right at that moment, the both of them walked straight into Ron and Seamus.

"Hi Seamus. Hullo, Ron," Harry said coolly.

"Hey Harry, hey Hermione," Seamus said amiably.

Ron glared at Hermione, completely ignored Harry, and then hurried off down the corridor.

Seamus watched him go, and then turned to Hermione and Harry and said in a low voice, "I heard him ranting about the two of you to Ginny this morning."

"We had an argument," Harry said shortly.

"Yeah, well, you should talk to him, Harry. I reckon—"

"I'm not saying a word to him. I just said hello and he acted like I wasn't even there!"

Hermione sighed impatiently. "Come on, Harry. We've got to go back to the library."

"Right, well, I'll see you later then." Seamus turned and walked off in opposite direction Ron had gone in.

Harry kicked the wall angrily.

"If it makes you feel better, he hasn't been speaking to me, either," Hermione said.

"I just wish he'd stop being such an idiot," Harry muttered.

"Just don't think about it anymore," Hermione told him. "We've got other things to worry about."


End file.
